Adam
by leeeel
Summary: "Some people come into our lives, and quickly go. Some stay awhile and leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same." Flavia Weedn.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hi. Me again with another short story based on a piece called 'Adolf' by D.H. Lawrence I read some months ago. I got a crazy idea to do my own version, a Richonne version, but please no one sue me. This is part one of four. Enjoy.

 **ADAM**

 **Part 1:** **The Arrival**

For most of my young life, every weekday, from Monday to Friday, at the precise hour of five a.m. my father, Jack Williams, would trudge his weary soul through the back door, and into the house. At first, I assumed he had preferred to work the night shift. Once, when I asked him why, he said to me, "The war, Michonne, the war. It was the same way with my father, and, my father's father."

His intentions never were to repeat the pattern, but the universe, along with the inherited weakness in his bloodlines, had not seen it fit to disallow the tradition. He didn't like leaving his wife and three children alone without his protection, his property, his territory unguarded throughout the long, potentially dangerous, darkened hours. But, he did not like suffering through his night terrors even more.

On the other hand, the slow, quiet pace, in the late hours at the warehouse, kept him content. He loved listening to the soft jazz crooning from his desk radio, and he delighted in the "nonsensical" machinations of his workers. Bonding over long-abandoned, but not forgotten, wistful dreams, talking, laughing, teasing, and swapping outrageous stories about their pasts, about their families, distracted my father just enough from worrying too much about us, his loved ones, slumbering at home.

My father loved people. In particular, complex and crazy people. People who, despite being laid low by their burdens and their fears, still managed to hold on to their pride and their integrity. People who never used their shortcomings as an excuse to shirk their responsibilities. In other words, Jack Williams loved people like himself.

One morning, not too long after I turned eighteen, on the first day of Spring break, it rained. No, not just rained, there was a downpour, the winds whipped the elm trees out front, and the sky darkened to a demonic grey. The time was six-thirty, and my father was not yet home. My mother, her eyes darting out of the kitchen window, kept tucking in the back of her hairnet, signaling her nervousness.

My siblings and I, still in our nightwear, focused, in silence, on our assignment of setting out breakfast on the dining table, when finally, our father's old pickup could be heard roaring into the driveway. A few seconds later, his presence and authority dwarfed the tiny kitchen area.

"Penny, move quick and gets me a coffee and some grits," my father ordered, his raincoat and boots dripping on my mother's hardwood floor.

As soon as Mama placed his requests into his hands, he made an about-face, and strode back out to the foyer. Tyrese, Sasha, Mama, and I scuttled after him and into the living room.

My father set his mug and bowl on the table in front of someone sitting on Mama's lilac-grey couch. It was a man. A young, scraggly, white man, drenched from head to toe, in a dark jacket and t-shirt, soiled grey sweatpants, and shabby brown army boots. His eyes were hollow, his face was dirty and bruised, and his lips blistered. On the other hand, his chestnut hair was trimmed low, and his beard wasn't overgrown.

Mama cupped her apple cheeks and released a heavy sigh. "Oh Jack."

He shrugged off his jacket before helping the silent stranger peel off his own soaked garment.

"Tyreese," my father called to my big brother, giving him the wet items, "go on and get the man some dry clothes."

Already turning on his heels, Ty scurried down the hall and headed up the staircase. He knew exactly what to do, this wasn't the first time.

Over the years, Jack Williams was in the habit, you see, of bringing home wandering, lost souls, for a night or two. Usually, veterans such as himself.

 _'Our Father, who resideth on Earth, in St. Joseph, Alabama. Blessed be your name.'_

As Daddy handed his steaming breakfast over to the trembling man, my father took Mama's hand and stepped back out into the hallway. Little Sasha and I, traipsing right behind him, unleashed our curiosity in hushed voices.

"Where did you find him? How long this one gonna stay?"

Sasha wrapped her short arms around Father's leg.

"He was roaming out there," Daddy said. "'bout two miles down on Jeffrey's Highway. And I reckon he won't be long. Took some convincing just to get him into the truck."

"Goddammit Jack!" Mama yanked her hand away.

My eyes narrowed and I brushed my mother's back. "Daddy why you keep upsetting Mama like this?"

"The storm was coming Penelope," he defended. "I couldn't just drive away."

But I wondered about his brand-new Nokia. Why didn't he at least ring, give us some sort of warning?

"He a Marine Daddy?" asked Sasha, eyes wide staring, completely ignoring the brewing tension. "What's his name? Where's he from?"

My father shook his head and pinched her dimpled chin as he gave a grim response. "He can't say. He don't remember much."

"Then why did you bring him here?" cried Mama. "There's the shelter, the hospital. Have you no care, no sympathy for my nerves? The last one was supposed to be the last one. Or have you forgotten?"

Tyreese reappeared. Dry, clean clothes folded neatly in his arms. A towel, bar of soap and a new toothbrush set on top. "Look at him Mama," he jutted his chin towards the living room, "he's in a sorry state, he can't hurt nobody."

I shot my brother a condescending look of disbelief. "Tyreese, you sound stupid, he got teeth and all his senses, don't he?"

"He might be crazy but that don't make him dangerous."

My hands rose to my hips and I tilted my head. "You weren't here for Christmas."

"I'm here now. And well at least I ain't cold and heartless," Tyreese retorted, crossing his bulky arms across his chest.

"Times are changing baby," my mother tried to reason, "We can't be so trusting nowadays."

"Shut up the both of you," Daddy barked. "Everybody be quiet." My father rubbed his balding head and squeezed his eyes shut. We all stared at him, holding our breaths waiting to hear the end of his internal deliberations.

His heart was too big. Too soft for his own good, my mother always said.

Finally, Daddy reopened his warm brown eyes and surveyed each one of us. His clan. His heart and soul. "I know I done made y'all a promise, and after things went bad before, I said it woulda been the last time. But I… I just got a feeling, something tugging inside a me about this one. This young man, something about his eyes, like-like he's trapped in a nightmare."

Nodding her understanding, Mama sighed and placed her palm against Daddy's broad chest. But then she said, "You putting yourself and this family at risk Jack. You want me to just accept that?"

"Yes. Just a couple of days help Penny, is all I'm asking. Only the Lord can read a person's heart."

"Exactly." She cocked her chin up at him. "And you ain't the Lord."

Daddy sucked in a deep breath, straightening his six-foot two stature, as he eyed his five-foot four wife. He stepped around her, and we all watched as he returned to our new houseguest, who'd already consumed the coffee and grits.

My father sat beside him and placed his large hand on the fella's narrow shoulder. "Hey, look at me son. We goin' take care of yuh, yuh hear?"

In a hoarse whisper, shaky with fear, he responded, "Y-Yes Sir."

* * *

Later on, whilst the stranger bathed and cleaned himself, a thorough search was made of his jacket pockets, but nothing was found that indicated who he might've been. No Id card, no driver's permit, no bank card, no weapons—nothing. All we had were the clues we could see.

On his right forearm there was a _Liberty or Death_ tattoo. That, along with the star on the upper leg of his sweatpants, his boots, his toy soldier stance, and his weak, yet stealthy movements, told us that Daddy's suspicions about this wanderer being a military man, may have been right. His nails were short and clean, his teeth in good order, so, he also hadn't been homeless for too long either.

Afterwards, my mother got her first-aid kit and patched him up, putting her nursing skills to use. Other than the bruises on his arms and his face, there was a nasty injury at the back of his head. A gash, looked about a few days old—two, maybe three—and according to Mama, was the probable cause for his 'apparent' loss of memory. Long, but not so deep, she assessed that ten stitches would've been good enough to close the wound.

When the stranger returned downstairs, Daddy fed him again. His appetite was insatiable. He devoured everything within seconds. The scrambled eggs, the bagels, the fried sausages, and the orange juice, which Sasha couldn't refill fast enough. Although alert, to a greater extent, once we had put some more food into him, no matter what questions my father asked, our visitor, with his assessing gaze, remained uncommunicative. At least for that first day. He just ate.

Finally, Tyreese led him back to the now pulled-out couch, which I covered in fresh sheets, where the stranger laid down and promptly fell asleep. His slumber, however, was a restless one. Twitching, jerking, and mumbling in between. At one point, we all stood hovering by the living room entranceway, trying to make out bits and pieces of his jumbled speech.

"No Sir…" "Over the hill…" "First pink mist…" "Adam…Adam…Adam."

He called that name over and over again, his disturbed jolting form a direct contrast to the soft calming pastel hues of our family room.

Suddenly, his babbling came in a completely different tongue.

Difficult to understand at first, but then my mother gasped, and clutched her gold necklace. "Oh Lord Jack! You done brought us a Russian spy."

Daddy shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous. Just his ethnicity. Doesn't mean anything bad Penny."

"Mean nothing good either," she maintained.

"He's one of ours. So, let's not go down that road—"

"Not everybody's part of the brotherhood Jack," Mama cut across him, folding her arms tightly over her chest. "Even if they is."

I grimaced at my mother, not only confused about how quickly she determined his Russian dialect, but also, her suspicious nature was edging closer to flat out paranoia.

"You do know that the Cold war's been over for like 5 years now, right?" Tyreese said, just as concerned by her rash assumption that this man was a foreign secret agent. "They got a new constitution and everything."

"That's what you think," she said. "You can't underestimate those Russians. The Soviets got special training in all sorts of ways. " Mama's assertive tone sounded exactly like her old man's, Grandpa Stockett. Our family's very own conspiracy-theorist. "Tenacious, sneaky bastards. And he might be one of them." She pointed at the homeless man.

Our eyes locked on to the sleeping stranger as he started up again.

"Stay out of the zone. Bud' luchshim. Nikogda ne sdavaysya."

Mama gripped Daddy's hand in hers. "Did you hear that Jack?"

My Father gave no response. He just frowned with pity.

"Let's leave him alone," I said, backing away. Getting a sickening feeling about us gawking at our visitor like a two-headed peacock on display. We all had better things to do than intrude on a person's nightmares.

Dinnertime came and went, and our guest had not yet risen from his rest. We started referring to him as 'Adam,' knowing full well that that probably wasn't his given name, but we thought it was better than calling him 'that man.' Thankfully, by the time my father had left for work that evening, his fits had subsided completely.

As the night's hours rolled by, and everyone else had gone to sleep, I laid awake in my room, staring up at my ceiling with one side of my headphones still on. Suddenly, through the voices of the Gallagher brothers serenading me from my Sony Walkman, I became aware of a disturbance, from somewhere inside of the house. I got up, unlocked my door, and followed the commotion. Venturing down through the hallway, I turned into the lit kitchen, where I spotted him—'Adam'— rummaging through the fridge like a wild animal.

Heat flushed through my body. I darted behind him and grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Get away from our food."

I don't know why I did that—put my hands on a deranged, homeless man. My impulsive reaction was not my brightest moment. In the next second, Adam spun around and shoved me hard, causing me to stumble before slipping to the floor.

"Don't touch me," he growled.

In an instant, my hand shot up to the drawer behind my head and pulled it open. I sprang to my feet and yanked out a carving knife.

"My mother was right," I heard myself say, my heart racing a mile a minute. "My father should've never brought your crazy ass into our home."

His already tightened features hardened towards me. A deathly look glazed over his eyes, turning them to a glacial blue. "I agree."

My own eyes then widened, and my shoulders tensed, at hearing the harsh clarity in his voice. I took a deep breath, demanding my body to regain some goddamned composure. I needed to act sensibly. "Are you saying we shouldn't trust you?" I prayed he didn't detect the tremor in my voice.

He eyed the eight-inch blade clutched in my hand. "Probably." His tone drawled, deep and threatening.

Even though I was the one armed, Adam's narrowed eyes, his rigid stance, legs apart, made him look like a predator ready to pounce, and made me feel like a cornered mouse. I wanted to scream bloody murder. Really I did, but I didn't, I didn't back down.

"Probably what?" I asked.

He took a single step forward and nodded at the knife. "Why don't you go ahead and put that away?"

I raised the cutting tool to the level of his encroaching face. "Why don't you go ahead and leave?"

We stared each other down for a long, hard moment. And I have to admit, I was too afraid to blink. My breaths were coming out in bursts, whilst his were even and steady.

"Yeah, you know you're right," he said, after a while. "You probably, shouldn't, trust me. Nowadays, it's all about survival —"

With one swift movement, he jammed his hands against my wrist, sending the knife clattering across the kitchen floor. Before I could lunge for it, he'd already snatched the blade up, and dropped it into the sink.

"Then again…" he said. "I'm not the one drawing weapons."

"You shoved me to the ground," I hissed, my pulse drumming in my ear.

"You grabbed me from behind."

"You were scavenging from our fridge." My eyes narrowed at him with a disdainful glare. "After my father took pity on you. Have you no shame?"

His head dipped as he leveled his gaze with mine, and in an unexpected moment, a flash of remorse softened his fierce demeanor. "I-I'm sorry. I'm not gonna hurt you."

A strange sensation invaded my chest by the candidness in his fixed stare. I became immobilized by uncertainty. "Y-you can't say that, you don't even remember who you are… Or do you?"

His eyes drifted to the left, and he sighed, "No. No I don't."

"So, you could hurt us. Or you could steal from us, try to burn our house to the ground while we're all asleep."

"That's happened before?"

Not sure why, but I confessed. "Yes." Not that every wanderer Daddy brought home treated us in unkind ways. Most were harmless. Sweet and friendly, grateful and kind. Over the years, though, we also encountered one too many scoundrels. The last s.o.b. left my mother terrified and jaded up to this day.

He nodded and passed his hand along the stitches at the back of his head. "My mind may be disoriented right now, and I can't recall the exact details of my life...Regardless, I know who I am, as a man. And that's not in me—Taking advantage of people, being kind and hospitable to a lost man like myself? No, I wouldn't do that."

I scoffed at him. I may have been young, but I wasn't a fool. The reality was you can't trust people nowadays, but it wasn't my house, so having this stranger there wasn't my call to make.

Realizing that I was no longer a threat, he relaxed against the kitchen sink, and allowed his attentions to wander about the room. From the dark mahogany floors, to the contrasting white wooden cabinets, up to the open shelves, and the handmade spice racks adorning the light blue wall behind me.

"Wouldn't be here Miss," he said, "if I knew what had happened, what led me out on that highway walking aimlessly. I just need a chance to catch my breath, and figure things out. That's all. If I can do that, I promise you, I'll move on."

Despite my petite stature from my mother, I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, and lengthened my posture, like my father. "You have until tomorrow," I said, keeping my voice low but firm, as though his presence in my house was remotely dependent on my choice. "And," I continued, "if you want something, ask."

He bit his lip and nodded.

Unclenching my fists, I backed out of the kitchen before turning to march off to my room. My other option would've been to drag my line-backer brother out of his bed, haul him downstairs, and convince him to physically remove this psycho from our humble abode.

I shook my head. No, too much drama. Seriously. And I'd had enough excitement and—

"Some toast would be nice."

Already in the foyer, my feet came to a halt and I spun around. "What?"

Leaning against the framed archway, he shrugged, wearing a ghost of a smile that made him look all the more dangerous. "Toast," he repeated, "And a glass of O.J. if you would be so kind…please?"

 _'Are you kidding me?'_

My lips pursed in annoyance, and I darkened my gaze at him. "You drank it all. There's only milk."

"Fine. That's fine."

I stormed passed him back into the kitchen. He took a seat at the table, and I grabbed a loaf of bread from the pantry, cursing myself and my inbred southern hospitality. I should've told him to go ahead and suck salt, to wait till it was breakfast like everyone else in the morning

Instead, I arched my brow at this ass and asked, "You want some fries with that?"

Out of all the peculiar things he'd done since his arrival, less than twenty-four hours ago, none of it unnerved me to the pit of my stomach, as much as what he did right then. He laughed.

* * *

By the next morning, I had resolved to steer clear of Adam.

Which meant finding purpose outside of the house, albeit just for one day. It was Spring Break after all, why not 'escape' to Mike's, my boyfriend, house, and spend the majority of my time lounging by his pool with him.

Over breakfast, however, I was taken aback by the unexpected scene that played out at the kitchen table. Before my eyes was no longer the brooding, shifty, ominous character from the night before. This man had switched to a new persona as he engaged in a rather jovial discussion with my brother about how the family, us Williams, christened him without his consent.

"Well," Adam said, slapping Tyreese on the back, "if not that, could be anything else. Could be worse. Like George."

Tyrese chuckled. "Or Bucky."

His efforts at being amiable even went as far as him offering to lend Ty a helping hand with his house duties—washing Daddy's truck, and mowing the front lawn.

"I could tend to that garden out there too," Adam volunteered, before jumping up from his seat to collect everyone's dirty dishes.

 _'Mama's garden? Hmph.'_

Any and everything to get into our good graces, I guessed. But no, my mother wouldn't fall for his calculating act. Not that—

"He wanna work?" Mama said, all of a sudden, whilst placing the remainder of her biscuits, one by one, into a plastic container. "Fine by me. Won't say no to an extra set of hands."

My heart froze for half a second. I tilted my head, puzzled at her acquiescence. "Really?"

"Michonne," her voice lowered to a whisper, "at least he'd be out there instead of in here. Not like we fixing to have him around for much longer baby. In any case, he looks good and able to be on his way after today."

Once everyone cleared the table, Daddy, before shuffling to bed to take his rest, took a few minutes outside on the front porch swing to sit and talk with Adam.

My father questioned him, gently prodding his memories, whilst also relaying the personal experiences of other fellow soldiers he'd known, who'd also suffered from temporary amnesia.

I curled up in the wicker rocking chair, in the far corner of the patio, reading Michael Anthony's 'All That Glitters.' Whilst waiting for Mike to arrive, I had listened to the cadence in my father's voice as he spoke with fondness about his time served in the U.S. Army.

When all was said and done, Daddy missed being active in the service, despite being left scarred and jaded from fighting for his country. A part of him, a huge part to be honest, still held on to those eight years of duty as though it were a lifetime. The honor, the comradery, the sacrifice… you can't get that out here, he would lament. Throughout my eighteen years of existence, I'd acquired a clear understanding and, to an extent, a measure of appreciation, that for my father being in the military gave him purpose. He was a part of a community, he had a role to play. A role which contributed to something greater than himself.

Rejoining society as a regular civilian was incredibly difficult. He was lost without that uniform, that sense of purpose, direction…that respect. He felt empty, and aimless, and didn't know how to just be a man, an individual person, to just be himself.

Until he met Mama, of course, Penelope Maria Stockett, a resident nurse at St. Joseph's Memorial hospital. In his own words, 'Life became colored with new meaning.'

Nevertheless, a void existed within him. Small, but persistent. Reaching out, even in little ways, to assist other servicemen, his brothers, who'd, for one reason or the other, found themselves left with nothing but the shirts on their back, gave my father a degree of satisfaction and a dose of fulfillment. It was why my mother indulged him and his charitable ways over the years, despite the consequences to herself.

Even though Adam neither confirmed, nor denied, being a soldier himself, my father informed him about the services available to render assistance for their 'kind' such as healthcare, and the contacting of one's family members.

Other than _"Yes Sir. No Sir."_ Adam, however, remained quiet. Which prompted Daddy to add that there was no rush, and that Adam could take all the time he needed. I stiffened in my seat, highly doubting that my father discussed this new arrangement with my mother.

When Mike arrived in his father's Cadillac to pick me up, Adam and Tyreese were battling with the rusty lawn mower out in the yard. Mike asked if we'd finally hired a gardener. I said yes, and left it at that.

For his second night with us, Adam grew more agitated in his sleep. More disjointed words, and more Russian gibberish, according to Penelope Williams, sputtered from his lips. Mama didn't challenge her husband to force Adam to leave that time. We let him be. Maybe my father was right.

Two hours after I'd gone to bed, there was a knock at my bedroom door. It was Adam. He wanted some aspirin, he had a hell-of-a headache. Also, if I didn't mind, he was starved and needed something to eat.

The whole time he was wolfing down Mama's leftover stewed chicken and shepherd's pie, I sat quietly, and kept my eye on him. As soon as the last fork-full entered his mouth, I swiped up his plate, threw it in the sink and went back to bed.

The next night, he wanted something else. A book, he couldn't sleep. I gave him Maya Angelou's 'The Complete Poetry,' and told him, "Sweet dreams."

Two nights after that, Adam, who for some inexplicable reason was still in my house, came knocking, again.

I creaked the door open. "What?"

"You asleep?"

It was friggin' one o'clock in the morning. "Seriously?"

"Yeah of course," he chuckled, like we were old friends chit-chatting over our favorite flavors of ice-cream. "It's just that umm…I umm—"

"Adam please," I huffed, groggy and impatient, leaning my forehead against the edge of the door.

"I want you to come on out here for a minute," he said. "Think I might remember something, and well, your Dad's not here so…"

"Check Tyreese, he's upstairs." I tried to push my door shut, but the demanding s.o.b. had the nerve to jam his foot against the panel.

"Hey, c'mon. One minute… please?"

 _'Goddammit, really?'_

"Can't this wait till the morning?" I said.

He pierced me with an unrelenting stare, and again, there was that twinge in my stomach. Why did this man have to be so ridiculous? I released a long sigh. "Fine," I caved. "One minute."

Five minutes later, with Grandma Stockett's crocheted blanket draped around my shoulders, I found myself sitting at the dining table gawking at Adam's adept movements around my mother's kitchen. He took the liberty to brew two mugs of hot chocolate.

"Wait, hold on," he said, causing me to pause before I sipped from the steaming drink he set before me. "Gotta get one last thing."

I gave him a quick nod.

He pulled open the refrigerator and yanked out a can of whip cream. "This right here," he squeezed the foamy white sweetness on top of my beverage without my permission, "is what life's all about."

He then sat down on the opposite side of the table, added cream to his own mug, and took a long sip of his chocolate.

Finally, I leaned forward, and stared at him, cradling the warm cup between my hands. "How is it?"

"It's good."

"So, Adam…you asked for a minute, it's been more than five. What do you remember?"

He shifted in his seat. That solemn expression of his, from when he first entered our home, reappeared. "Think my family's from Georgia."

"You think?"

"A sign…'Welcome. We're glad Georgia's on your mind.' And this little house, yellow I think, keep popping up in my head, in my dreams."

"Which part? Georgia's huge."

He shook his head.

"Are they still there, your parents?"

"No. I mean… I don't think they're alive anymore."

"Oh," my voice softened. "So, who's still in Georgia?"

"If what I can recall is right, my aunt and uncle, they raised me. May not have wanted to, though. Not sure 'bout that." His brows furrowed as though a pain sliced through him. "I remember feeling alone, unwanted and, counting down the days till I turned eighteen."

There was a sudden ache in my throat. Unwanted? The concept was foreign to me. Both my parents came from large, overprotective, (more like overbearing) families. "I'm sorry," I didn't know what else to say. Except, "What about your name?"

He shook his head again.

I openly gaped at him. "Yeah but—"

"No, nothing." His gaze turned steely, his expression closed up.

A dose of suspicion swirled in my gut. He neither blinked, nor fidgeted. He was lying. But I dropped it. "What else?"

"I am a soldier. Signed up when I got out of high school."

"Are you…" I paused, I needed to. Was I really going to ask him this outrageous question? "Are you, working for the Russian government?"

A captivating grin spread across his face, taking me completely by surprise. "Why on earth would you think that?"

My cheeks burned. However, I couldn't help but notice that he didn't precisely say no either, instead answering my question with a question. "You talk in your sleep. And not in English all the time. My parents suspect the language is Russian."

He swallowed hard as the cocky smile fell away from his face. Closing his eyes, Adam went quiet for a lengthy moment. In all my life, I had never yearned so much, as I did right then, to know exactly what a person was thinking.

Then suddenly, without looking back at me, he spoke.

"Eto khorosho, moy dorogoy."

My heart plummeted from my chest straight to my kidneys. "W-what does that mean?"

As he reopened his eyes, his face was stricken with confusion, as I imagined mine also had to be.

"What did you say?" I asked.

His lips parted and he shook his head. "I don't know."

* * *

The following day, I made a run to the library. When I got back, my mother discovered me huddled in daddy's recliner in the living room with, of all things, a Russian dictionary. With her jaw on the floor, she stared at me like I had shaved my head bald. Adam, who was sitting on the couch with a pen and notepad in his hands, noticed my mother's dumbfounded expression, and asked her what was wrong.

"My child," she responded, with all of her southern flare, pressing a palm against her chest, "is a brilliant student. But, she never could quite get anything past a C in Languages. It was either she understood something or she didn't. And if it was the latter, well hell, she'd rather have nothing to do with any of it."

"Mama," I said, heatedly embarrassed, "I'm just bored is all."

"Mmhmm." She traipsed away and headed upstairs, but not before granting me an unnecessary warning look.

* * *

Suffice to say, two days rolled through into two weeks. The school break was over, and the new semester had ushered in. Tyreese, having to return to college, invited Adam to use his room for the duration of his stay.

Having breakfast, lunch and dinner with us, Adam managed to effortlessly integrate himself into my family. They were impressed with him.

Industrious, helpful, and proactive, Adam also proved to be considerate, yet bold and outspoken. He had no qualms about voicing his opinions. Once, for example, I overheard him encouraging my father, with all due respect, to yield to my mother's demand for a better house-alarm system. Later that day, for dessert, she gave Adam an extra slice of Pecan pie.

On a few occasions, however, we caught sight of him when he wasn't pretending to be normal. At random times throughout the day, and even once or twice in the twilight, with no coat, no blanket on, he had the suspicious habit of slithering off into the woods behind the house, muttering strange, incoherent things to himself. We never knew why, and we never asked either.

One night, when I strolled out from my haven for a glass of water, Adam was still awake downstairs. As per usual.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Mmhm. Just thirsty," I replied.

He followed me into the kitchen, watching in silence when I pushed a glass against the refrigerator water-dispenser. "You see anything interesting?" I lifted my gaze to his and pointed a finger towards the front window.

His head twisted around to glance behind him. "Everything's quiet."

"Usually is."

More and more, Adam took it upon himself to maintain a vigilant watch at night. At one time, I had snuck out my room and down the hallway to discover him sitting on a dining chair he'd dragged to the front window. On the opposite side of the living room, David Letterman chuckled with Oprah softly on the TV.

Adam's spine was ramrod straight, head fixed, his eyes focused, peering out and beyond into the indefinite darkness. I found myself entranced. For five, ten minutes I had studied him, wondering again what he must've been thinking. He was so still, and quiet, was he even breathing?

Now, as he stood on the other side of the kitchen table, I sipped the cold liquid, whilst observing him from above the rim of my glass. He was hunched forward, propped up on his forearms on the back of a chair, with one hand rubbing the strong line of his jaw. Never any sign of stubble, his face was pretty much always smooth and clean. Daddy had bought him his own set of razors, which he used daily. And I constantly smelled the spice of that frothy shaving cream, mixed with pine soap whenever I was in his vicinity. Even now, from across the room, his scent infringed upon my senses.

His fingers then combed through his hair. It had grown out, and was more thick and curly than I had expected. The ponderous stare he sent my way in that moment, told me he wanted something.

I turned and pulled the fridge door open. "You hungry?"

"Me?" he said. "No. But you could go ahead, if you want."

I arched my brow with a smirk. This was my house. "Thanks."

He smiled, realizing the silliness of him giving _me_ permission.

I closed the refrigerator, gulped the remainder of my drink, and placed the glass inside of the dishwasher. "Goodnight," I said, intending to return to my room, but he straightened up and stopped me.

"I was thinking…" he said.

"Thinking?"

"Just now, before you came out. About confessing something." He stepped around the table and moved closer.

Instinctively, I stepped back. Whatever further confessions Adam had to make, were best directed towards my father. I glanced across to the silver teapot wall-clock. "Couple of hours and Dad will be here. After a cup of coffee, he'll listen to anything you have to say."

"Yeah, I know." He scratched his cheek. "But..."

"But what?"

"Not sure if I should say anything in the first place."

"Adam," an exasperated breath escaped me. "If you're gonna stay here much longer, you have got to start being honest with my father." I doubted Dad knew about our visitor standing on guard all hours of the night. Or that his memories, passing off as dreams, were getting more vivid every time he went to sleep.

"If you have something more to say," I shrugged my shoulders at the obvious. "then say it. Don't you think he deserves that much?"

He didn't respond. Instead he bowed his head, tilting it from side to side, without looking at me directly.

I sighed, biting back my frustration. "Adam…Adam?"

"My name's not Adam," he said, suddenly.

My eyes widened, and I drew in a sharp breath. "Okay. Well," I shook my head, "what is it then?"

"I don't think it's safe for me to say."

"Safe? For you, or for me? My family?"

Lifting his gaze, he moved his lean frame nearer to me. "For all of us." His conflict was written all over his face, and I even felt it. On the one hand he wanted to open up, needed to, about who he was and where he'd come from, and what he'd done. But on the other hand, there were consequences.

At that point, I became aware of my heartbeat accelerating, and my thoughts grew dim and hazy. Even the temperature in the damned room spiked exponentially.

 _'Jesus, what is this?'_

I couldn't speak, but I could move, and I did. I backed myself right up against the cool refrigerator. His blue eyes constricted at my uneasiness, causing my gaze to retreat to the blue and white tile patterns on the floor. Why was I behaving so strange? So flustered?

"Things are coming get back to me," he said. "Some bad things. But not all of it."

My father really did it this time. Adam, or whatever this man's true identity was, posed a threat of some kind. "Then leave," I managed to say, looking back up at him. "Tonight."

The look in his eyes transformed. He now stared at me with piercing scrutiny, sending a jolt straight through my body.

"Just like that?" He planted both his hands against the refrigerator on either side of my head, encaging me. "In the dead of night?"

God, he was so close. I took a deep breath, wondering where was that knife when I needed it? "You said that you're a threat." I was surprised to find my voice, it came out strong, and a little loud. "You won't tell me who you are."

"I can't."

"No, not can't. Won't."

He slid his gaze down to the minimal space between us.

"Well?" I asked, perusing the intensity in his features.

He shook his head. "I won't let any harm come to this house," His voice turned to a hoarse whisper. "I thought you trusted me by now."

"I'm sorry, I don't."

His eyes flickered over my face and he frowned. "But your Dad does."

" _My_ family's my world."

"I've seen how he treats you," he said. "Mr. Williams cherishes each and every one of you."

I nod. Of course, he did. "But his idea of family is a bit more inclusive than mine."

When the meaning of my words registered, his face went slack. A lump rose with immediacy into my throat and I knew I had made a huge mistake by saying that.

 _'Unwanted.'_

One of the first things he remembered about himself was the bitterness of rejection. And my fear, my confusion, made me speak without care or consideration.

As he pulled away, his hands dropped and brushed against my arms. I flinched. Ashamed that goosebumps sprang up all over my flesh.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No, it's nothing, I just… I just…"

"Hey..." He raised a hand, and stroked his knuckles against my cheek. "It's okay. I won't ever hurt you, Michonne. I could never. So if you could just stop being afraid of me—"

"I'm not afraid." But my trembling body under his touch showed me to be a liar. "Let me go back to bed Adam." _'Please?'_ I added in my head. I couldn't stay there much longer. The struggle was real. I was fighting to breathe. My nerve endings were tingling, my sense of rational thought quickly slipping…

His hand then fell to the edge of my shoulder, and he heaved a sigh. "Rick."

My brows furrowed. "What?"

"Not Adam, my name's Rick," he corrected. "Rick Grimes, from King's County, I'm twenty-three. That's all I can give you. Okay?"

My eyes connected with his and I gave him a wary look, but I nod anyway trying to contain my shock at his confession. He didn't verbally instruct me to keep this information to myself, but I knew I was supposed to. "Yeah…okay."

In that moment, my mother waltzed in, dressed in her night robe, discovering us alone, and standing way too close. I had done nothing wrong, but my stomach sank when I saw the look of condemnation on her face.

She ordered me to my room, and honestly, I was happy to obey, without missing a beat. By the time I reached to my doorway, though, I paused, I wanted to hear what she had to say.

"You need to leave," she said. "Think it's time, dear."

"Yes Ma'am. Think you're right," I heard him respond to her straightforwardness. "Your daughter and I were just talking is all. I couldn't sleep."

"I understand, and I'm real sorry to hear that. But, the thing is young man, my husband may be a saint…actually you and I both know that he absolutely is. And he gonna drive me to drink. But, the Lord knows that I'm not. I'm not a saint." Something then dragged across the tiles. A chair? "Don't," my mother continued, "underestimate me Adam. 'Cause I won't, hesitate, to plunge a knife straight into your gut, if you ever put your hands on my daughter again. You catch what I'm saying?"

"We were just talking is all—"

She cut him off. "Sweetie, I would drag your narrow behind, down this road for half a mile, for all of St. Joseph and them baby angels to see. Hell I'd let you bleed out into the street before I bury that pale body of yours under Mr. Johnson's sycamore tree. Do you hear me?"

Silence.

"Do. You. Hear. Me?" My mother repeated.

"Yes Ma'am," Adam said. "I hear you."

"Good. Now quit all this lurking around you been doing down here, and come on upstairs and try to get you some sleep. You and Mr. Williams have a lot to talk about tomorrow."

"Yes Ma'am."

* * *

The next day, Saturday, whilst draining her mug of herbal tea, Mama sat at the dining table with Sasha talking about dress shopping at JC Penny before visiting Grandma and Grandpa Stockett's house. Daddy already made his way upstairs to take a shower and hit the bed. As for me, I was lost in thought taking my time with the breakfast dishes.

"Michonne," Mama pushed her chair back and turned her attentions to me, "think you might join us?"

I grabbed a kitchen towel and dried my hands. "Thinking of spending the day in the library instead."

"Ugh! Nerd." Sasha crinkled her nose in my direction.

Mama smacked Sasha on her hand, albeit quite lightly, in objection to her rudeness. "C'mon sweetie," she persisted. "When was the last time just us girls done something together, huh?"

I knew what she really wanted—Me, out of the house. Truth was, I wanted that too. My conversation with Adam…No, Rick…less than twelve hours ago, played on an endless loop inside of my brain. To avoid any awkwardness would've been preferable, at least until I could figure out how to deal with him. Yet, I had no desire to go traipsing downtown behind my mother and sister either.

I gave them both a little smile, hoping for some understanding. They should know me by now, and when I prefer to be alone. "It's been awhile, I know, but—"

Just then, my words got cut off by a frightening noise from upstairs. The three of us exchanged knowing glances, our thoughts one and the same— _'Daddy.'_

"Oh God!" Another outburst rang out and we flew out of the kitchen trampling up the staircase.

"Alright girls," Mama said, her voice soft and light trying to keep the shared panic at a minimum level. "you know the procedure. Don't get too close, we makes sure the area is clear of any danger, and we let him ride it out."

"Yes Mama," Sasha and I chorused.

However, as soon as we made it to the landing, to our surprise, Daddy was just standing there, right out in the hallway. He was awake, lucid, and tranquil.

"Baby?" Mama reached out for him.

Recognizing the concern on our faces, Father shook his head. "Not me."

In the next second, we all stood behind him as he gingerly opened Tyreese 's bedroom door. As soon as he pushed the panel wide enough, we caught sight of Adam thrashing about in bed, and groaning in his sleep. In one stride my father moved into the room, my mother stepped up beside him warning him not to intervene.

After he tossed and turned some more, Rick, in an instant, shot up and his eyes flew open. "Stop!" Panicked, he tried to lunge out of the bed, but my parents were swift and grabbed ahold of both his arms trying to restrain him.

"Let go of me!" Rick screamed so loud Sasha's palms flew up to cover her ears. "I won't go back."

Half the size of my father but too strong for my mother, Rick's elbow swung back and struck her in the face, knocking her to the floor.

"Penny!" Daddy wrapped both his arms like a vice around a disoriented Rick, whilst Sasha and I flew to our mother's side.

After she claimed she was fine, Mama got back up. "Hold him Jack," she said, trying to catch her breath, pressing her fingers against her bruise. "If we let him up, the poor boy'll hurt himself."

"Shane, no." Agitated, Rick struggled to break free from Daddy's grip. "There's snipers everywhere. They'll kill us. They'll kill us all!"

My mother ran a reassuring hand over his head, and murmured, "Ssh. You're safe, Adam. You're safe."

Suddenly, he looked straight at me… or through me. I knew he was asleep, but still… His blue eyes were so wide with fear, pooled with so much sadness, his anguish swallowed me up, snatching the very breath out of my soul.

"They're dead," he said. "All of 'em." Confusion crumpled Rick's features, as tears streaked down his face. "Eto khorosho, moy dorogoy. Prosti menya, Pozhaluysta"

An eerie silence followed, with the exception of Rick's ragged breathing.

"Michonne," My mother looked over to me. "Get over here."

Rick began jerking again, trying to rip himself away from my father's constricting arms.

"No, stay back," Daddy said, the muscles in his face strained.

"Trust me Jack…" Mama said. "Michonne, Adam needs you front and center young lady."

"W-what…I, I don't know how." I stumbled back, feeling hollow.

"Just do like you've seen me done with your father," Mama said. "Now come on, you can do this."

Still I hesitated.

"Michonne!" Sasha nudged me in my back, and I forced my feet to move forward.

I climbed into the bed behind Rick, draped my arm over his shoulder, and pressed my trembling hand against his heaving chest. Through his T-shirt, drenched in sweat, I felt the violent thudding of his heart. His muscles stiffened and his legs kicked out. But I pinned him down.

"Alright, quickly now," Mama said, beads of sweat dotting her forehead. "Tell him what he needs to hear."

Recalling my mother's words of comfort, which I had heard one too many times, I took a deep breath, softened my voice, and I told him…

I said, "It's over. The fight? It's over. You've done your duty and now…now you're safe. Because now you are home. With us. With me. With your family. And we are all okay."

"No," he wailed, and shook his head.

"Yes," I answered, squeezing him tighter. "And someday...someday, I promise you, you're gonna be okay too… You're gonna be okay."

My mother shot me a look, and nodded. "Good. Again."

I repeated Mama's words over and over, making them my own, as my parents and I formed a circle of security around him. Rick, still groaning, finally rocked back into my arms, calmer. My father and mother released their hold, and we helped him lay back in the bed.

Without another word, we all trod out, and closed the door with ease behind us.

Hours later, after I'd returned from the library, my mother informed me that Daddy packed up 'Adam's' few things, and got him out of the house.

It was for the best, she'd said. And yes, I agreed.

Nonetheless, an unexpected sense of regret, along with an aching pang in my chest, swept through me. As well as, a distasteful irritation towards myself, like, ' _Shit, I didn't even get to say goodbye.'_ I felt…heavy with disappointment.

I marched into my room, sat at the edge of my bed, and stared outside my window. Thick rain clouds had drifted in, shrouding the lonely country road in dense shadows. So much so, that the camellia bushes in full bloom, renowned for bursting in an array of colors, all looked grim, pasty, a dismal grey. The gloomy view was suffocating.

I turned my back, lay down on my side, and reached for my Walkman. I needed a distraction. I needed to stop wondering if I'd ever know, whether or not, our guest, our wandering visitor, was truly going to be okay.

More importantly, I needed to stop hoping that, once he _was_ okay, I'd get to see him again. Because there was no point to that, no reason for Rick from King County to step foot back into my house.

Not even for one day.


	2. Chapter 2

Trigger Warning: A portion of the following chapter contains a threat of sexual assault.

 **Part 2: The Return**

 _3 months later_

Growing up, I'd always believed in the concept of 'Expect the unexpected.' A simple supposition I know, but in that way, I managed to live with my guard up, always alert, always on the lookout. Never unprepared, never incompetent — My father's motto he'd adopted for his household. Yet, more and more, life's intrinsic, unpredictable quality never ceased to amaze me.

One night, with Mike's muscled arm secured around my skinny waist, I'd stumbled into my house, through my unlocked bedroom window. Sagging against his chest, a blanket of relief enveloped me when he, with warm, loving concern, agreed to take me home early from our senior prom that evening. My head began to spin, and I needed to leave. One minute, Andrea, T-Dog, Mike and I were laughing and dancing, singing _'Ready or Not'_ by the Fugees, at the top of our lungs in the heights of our revelry, and in the next, I felt ill—sick to my stomach and dizzy.

Which made no sense. I only had but one drink…Half really. 'Juvie Jessie' had bumped into me, spilling the remaining contents of my cup (T-Dog's concoction) to the floor, and I'd refused Mike's offer for a refresher. Prom night or not, I'd promised Mama to exercise restraint. In fact, I always did. I never succumbed to over-indulging myself, so I concluded my head spinning must've been due to something else.

Once Mike and I both plodded through my cluttered bedroom floor, I collapsed on top of my soft mattress with my eyes squeezed shut, trying like hell not to vomit my 'liver-strings' out. Thank god he helped me with untying my strappy heels, because at that point it was impossible to keep my head up. Not even for a few seconds. It was like I was weightless. Motionless. Yet, somehow floating upwards to the ceiling, as I looked back down, watching my attentive boyfriend take care of me.

Suddenly, without warning, there was nothing. My switch had been flicked off.

I don't recall how long I'd blacked out for, only that an immediate and desperate need to breathe, forced me to reawaken. Breathless, my eyes snapped open as something heavy was resting on top of me. Or rather, someone.

"Mike?" I gasped. My five-star boyfriend was pressing his lips all over my chest, my neck, my cheeks... He was sloppy, his kisses were cold and greedy, his Polo cologne, which to me usually smelt so damn good, was now a stifling stench. I pushed him away, or at least I tried to, again and again. "No," I said, wondering if he'd realized that I didn't want, or need, that amount of attention.

It then occurred to me, My arms, my legs…Why were they so limp? I was like a damn rag doll—utterly powerless.

"C'mon, let me do this," Mike said, his voice slurred, as he groped my breast. "My prom queen looked incredibly hot tonight."

I thought, Why was he being such an ass? "No. Stop." My words too, came out feeble and weak I wasn't even sure I had heard myself, so I swallowed hard, and tried once more. "Stop." No, nothing, still a mere whimper.

He laughed. Then stuck his hand up my dress. "I know you wore this for me."

It was weird, his voice vibrated and echoed, the room tilted, and time slowed to a stop. I was disoriented. I felt I must've been dreaming, I must still be asleep, but Mike's calloused hands, and alcohol-laced breath told me otherwise. This, was real.

That goddamned bastard! The second I got a chance I would rip his stupid throat out.

Mike Anthony and I had been dating for four and a half months. We fooled around sure, and I liked it. I liked him, but not like this. There was no way I wanted _this._ Not once had I allowed our relationship to reach that level because my parents had put the fear of God in both me and my younger sister.

I needed to move, I needed air. My body squirmed, a little. My heart pounded, a lot. "W-wait… just wait." I wanted him to stop.

And he did. Mike rose himself onto his forearms and glared down at me. "You can't be serious!"

I didn't shove him off, I didn't knee him in the groin… I blankly stared up at him. Somewhat unbelievable, but for a moment, I wanted to say "I'm sorry" when I saw disappointment crinkling the corners of his big brown eyes.

However, that emotion was fleeting, as pure anger hardened his gaze, and he turned mean and ugly.

Dread filled my stomach, my chest tightened with fear.

"I've been waiting for months Michonne," he said. "Do you know how hard it was for me, you tease?"

Before I could respond, he again dropped his restraining weight on top of me, trapping my hands between our bodies. When I gasped, he shoved his tongue into my mouth and I gagged, I nearly threw up. I struggled beneath him, to break free from the awfulness, but with one large hand Mike grabbed both my wrists and pinned my arms down hard above my head. He then forced his other hand between my thighs, his class ring ripping my bare skin in the process.

I winced in pain, but the son of a bitch didn't care. He had me incapacitated.

"No." I shifted my head away.

He grunted, pulling the delicate fabric of my underwear to the side. My eyes squeezed shut at the violation of his rough touch. Desperate, I jerked and fought so hard my stomach hurt, but I may as well have been lifeless, I couldn't do anything, I couldn't protect myself. I was not prepared. I was incompetent.

"You think I'm not gonna get a taste of this?" he said. "Before we leave for college? Relax. You feel amazing."

"No. Get the hell off of me!" I wanted to holler, but my voice was still lost, still refused to make much of a sound. Loud in my head, but a whisper on my lips. More than afraid, I was absolutely mortified.

The next thing I knew, I started slipping, fading off into unconsciousness. Terror now consumed me. Mind, body, and soul. My sense of self clawed to hold on to reality, and I began to do something I hadn't been doing regularly before…I began to pray.

 _'Oh God…please, help me...'_

Lava-like tears streamed down the side of my face, puddling in my ears. And I begged, "Mike, please-please-please-please…"

He tore the thin cotton off of my body and used his knees to drive my legs apart, my drowsy gaze dropped to where he fumbled with his belt, and my body started to tremble.

"Stop-stop-stop. Please don't do this…" I sobbed. Whatever little strength I managed to scrape together, was then used to conjure a nightmarish scream from within.

In a split second, a rush of fresh air embraced me, and Mike was no longer there. There was a definitive thump on the ground and some sort of a scuffle. I didn't know what he was doing, but I didn't wait for him to come back. My shaky legs dragged close together, while I twisted my helpless body to the side. Above the pounding of my heart, I heard heavy dull blows, followed by a startling crash.

Through my watery eyes I looked back, and squinted into the shadows, just in time to witness Mike receive a solid punch to his head. I gasped.

Someone else was in the room. A man.

 _'But who? Daddy? Tyreese?'_

No, neither one was at home. At least, they weren't supposed to be. But it was too dark and the edges of my vision were too blurry to recognize the second silhouette. In addition, tiredness was summoning me, and I was more than ready to answer the call.

Mike then echoed my own thoughts.

"Who the hell are you—"

Another cracking sound followed by a thud against the wall stopped his words in his mouth.

"Get out or I'll kill you," muttered the unknown, yet familiar sounding, assailant.

Mike scrambled across my room and staggered out the window. In that moment my eyes surrendered and fell shut.

Alone now with this mystery man, I heard him move closer to my bed before he touched me gently on my arm. Although warm, I shuddered at his touch.

"You okay?" he asked.

I felt the hem of my dress tugged down and something draped over my still vulnerable form. From the smell, I could tell it was my Grandma's blanket.

"Hey," he patted my face, "hey open your eyes Michonne. If you could just look at me and tell me you're okay."

"I can't, I can't." I moaned. My eye lids were weighed down, growing heavier by the second.

"Ty V poryadke? Posmotri na menya."

 _'Oh god.'_

My already racing heart threatened to rupture out of my chest. "Adam?"

"Rick."

 _'Seriously?'_

I then sank into oblivion.

* * *

"So… it was real."

Those were the first words to come out of my mouth, when I slipped back into consciousness, a few hours later. Except for the dim light from my bedside lamp, my room was still cloaked in darkness. However, there was no mistaking the other recognizable figure leaning against the wall next to my bedroom window.

"You okay?" asked Ad—no, no Rick. He turned and looked at me from across the room, concern creasing the lines on his forehead.

Still weak, but much more in control of the members of my body, I slowly pushed myself up into a sitting position, and leaned my throbbing head against the backboard. "I feel… like hell," I groaned.

He stepped over and sat at the foot of my bed. "Hey, take it easy alright. You've been out for like two, three hours now."

Even though I was more…alert? You could say…I must confess, that I half suspected this man to be some sort of apparition. Like seriously. He wore a tan jacket, over a denim shirt, and boot jeans. His beard had grown in. He looked…older. "How are you here?" I licked my dry lips. "Why?"

"I have something for your father." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. "I'm better now, well, I'm getting there, and um, I wanted to let him know that. To say 'Thanks.'"

"You were just gonna leave that in the mailbox?" My father wasn't at home, which Rick already knew, and wouldn't be for hours.

"I wanted to check in on you… all of you. See if everything was okay."

' _And clearly everything was not,'_ his eyes added, the way he stared at me with abject pity. My gaze fell hard and fast to my lap. A burning sensation on my inner left thigh served as a not-so-gentle reminder of the nightmarish experience I'd had only one dense, unbidden nap ago.

Rick went on to relay how he'd ended up being there with me. How he'd pulled up in his truck, right when Mike and I climbed through the window at the side of the house, and Rick didn't like the 'look' of my disposition. So, naturally, he'd hung around to allay his suspicions.

"And so you decided to just take a peek into my bedroom?" My voice came out angry, when I didn't mean it to.

But I was. I was angry, and confused and hurt and so fucking humiliated. And Rick was looking at me like an abandoned, wounded animal and I wanted to scream, I wanted to lash out. But instead I clenched my fists so hard, my nails dug into my skin. I didn't want to cry. Not in front of him.

"So," he continued, bypassing my accusation, my peevishness, my…everything, "you went out? Had too much to drink, and things got out of hand?"

I sighed in exasperation and smoothed my fingers over my brow. "No. It wasn't like that."

"Tell me then." He softened his voice.

"Yes, I went to prom but, other than the one solitary drink Mike brought me, I drank water mostly tonight. And even then, I didn't get to finish the alcoholic drink. I started to feel sick, and Mike agreed to bring me home."

He nodded, his expression contemplative as he pictured the scene, probably trying to fill in the details. How did Mr. Williams' daughter get from point A, to point B, to point C? How could she not have known? Why wasn't she more careful? How could she allow this? Is she stupid?

"Yes." I said out loud.

He squinted at me. "What?"

I shook my head at my internal self-deprecation, and swallowed my shame. "Nothing." I really wanted this night to be over. But then Rick went on to say the most preposterous thing…

"You should wake your Mom, and go to the police, " he said with a cautious tone.

 _'Oh God. Hell no.'_

I scoffed so hard I nearly burst out laughing. Furthermore, my response made me realize how disconnected I was feeling.

On the other hand, he had no idea who Mike Anthony was – Class Valedictorian, star athlete on the basketball team, and come September, freshman at Howard University – not to mention, that both his parents were attorneys.

"It wouldn't make a difference," I said.

"It wouldn't?" He ran his hand through his hair, gave his head a slight shake and shrugged. "Why not?"

"It _just_ wouldn't. Besides…" I glimpsed away, stretching my arm out to adjust the shade of my lamp. "…Nothing, happened," I answered, failing to even convince myself.

"Excuse me?" In an instant, he shot up to his feet, strode over to the light switch, and flipped the button on.

My haven became illuminated. Like my vintage movie posters, and my academic awards, I was on full display. My arms clutched my stomach, and I froze.

"You care to repeat that?" His voice now matched the harshness in his gaze.

"I don't want anyone to twist my words," I shot back.

He came and sat directly in front of me and gripped my shoulders. "Mrs. Williams, let me go get her."

"No." Let my mother see me like this? That was out of the question. I shrugged him off, drew my knees up, and hugged my legs to my chest. I felt nauseous again.

He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration. "I don't understand."

It was simple. "She'll cry." And that would make me feel even worse.

"She's strong. Let her be strong for you. She'd want you to go and report this. Your father at least. He would know what to do."

"Absolutely not! I could never…" My voice became gutted with emotion. I buried my face behind my knees. How could I share this ordeal with my parents? It would shatter them. Why didn't Rick see that? "Shut, up, about it. Please?"

I heard him release a heavy breath. "God I'm, I'm sorry. I didn't mean… It's not your fault is all I'm trying to say. None of this is."

"I know that." Or did I? Mike – I cared about him. I was convinced he cared about me too. Me. Not what he could get, or rather, take from me. "All I want to do is forget, okay?"

"Of course." He reached out and took my hand in his, and said, "I know that. I... know that."

Slowly, I looked back at him and nodded. Of course he did. He of all people would know what it was like to want to push the 'Big-bad-terrible' to the back of your mind. Whatever ugliness he had been exposed to, which I still had no clue about, undoubtedly marred his consciousness for life. I couldn't ever compare the two, due to my ignorance.

However, my 'bad night' lasted what? A few minutes? Under a haze? Maybe if I didn't dwell on it, dwell on the shock and the fear, the betrayal, maybe, just maybe, I could pretend it wasn't me about to be violated in my own bed. Rather, it was some B rated actress in a badly written horror movie.

God, I knew what I was thinking wasn't making a lick of sense, but that's how I _felt_.

"You're really gonna keep this to yourself?" Rick asked, brushing the tips of his fingers against my own. "You need to talk to someone. Anyone. You have to. Because on some random day, in some random place, at some random moment, it's gonna hit you Michonne. Hard. It'll be better for you to get it out there. It'll help you to carry on."

What he said, made sense, on an intellectual level, but I simply couldn't…process or whatever. I needed to go to sleep for like days, maybe a week.

After we sat in quietude for a long time, I whispered, "I need to shower."

"I don't think you should do that."

Ignoring him, I pushed aside my blanket, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and let my feet hit the floor. As soon as I stood up, my body shook uncontrollably.

Rick caught me. He hooked his arms around my back and under my legs, scooping me up against his chest.

"What did he do to me?" I whimpered.

"Think he may have slipped you something."

Rick spoke the words I wouldn't dare allow myself to think.

Turning my face into his shirt, I broke down, and cried.

* * *

Rick helped me to the bathroom, which was located right across from my door. After he was sure he could leave me, without having to worry about my collapsing on to the cold tiled floor, he gave me my first moment of privacy since I came home that night.

I knelt over the toilet bowl, puked, got in the shower, bathed, then came out and puked some more.

By the time I returned to my room, my bedsheets had been changed, the dresses I'd left strewn haphazardly over my desk were gathered in one of Rick's hands, their hangers in the other. Was he cleaning up?

"You don't have to do that." I took my belongings from him, as a different wave of embarrassment washed over me. I was an intrinsic slob. Quite peculiar for a child raised in a regimented household.

"Not a problem," he shrugged with a smirk. "More for me than for you."

Yes, must've been torture suppressing that soldier's need for order. Usually I would've pitched the clothing into the back of my closet, but he came and stood right behind me. With concerted effort I hung each dress back on to the damned plastic frames. My mother would've beamed.

"You look…better," he said.

"I am." No longer clad in my black lace prom dress, I donned a purple pajama pants and a white tank top. The lightheadedness and nausea were also no more.

Thankfully, he took a seat at my study area, reordering my stationery, and watched as I continued de-cluttering my space.

Despite my state of acute self-consciousness, we talked. We talked about everything major that happened within the last three months.

Mama's father, Grandpa Stockett, had a stroke one morning whilst arguing over a news article in the papers. Her time now was split between the two households – ours and that of her elderly parents – helping out with Grandpa's daily needs. Tyreese got drafted to a football team that was relatively new, 'Jacksonville somebody,' I'd said, at the moment I couldn't really remember the name. In any case, it didn't matter we were all so proud of him for making it into the big leagues. As soon as school was over, though, he'd be moving straight down to Florida.

Furthermore, with regards to me I told him I'd gotten into the school I wanted up in Atlanta, and as for Daddy, he'd brought home no other strangers since Rick.

In turn, Rick responded by opening up, as much as he could, about being a different type of soldier from my father. Never deployed to any of the publicized wars, rather, he was trained for special missions. The specifics of which he understandably couldn't elaborate, and neither did I want, nor needed him to.

He did, however, express his regrets.

"What it is they made us do," he said, his shoulders curled over his chest as he stared down at the floor. "It's not what we signed up for."

From across the room, I paused from restacking my Cds, and peered at him. "Us? How many made up your batch?"

"You mean my unit? Twenty-four. Not all of us American." He stopped himself and glanced up.

Recognizing that he wasn't supposed to say what he said, I ignored his last words and asked, "So, what happened?"

"It's better if I don't tell you."

With his eyes closed, he began rubbing at the middle of his forehead, as though his memories inflicted him with an instant physical pain. Sympathy seeped across my chest, his internal torment so apparent. Should I pressure him about it? I wondered. No. What good would that do?

Just as I had opened my mouth to change the subject…

He continued, uncompelled.

"But, there's only so much blood – innocent blood – a man can spill before he loses his humanity completely." His voice deepened with disgust and self-loathing. "You were afraid of me? You had every right to be. I couldn't take it anymore – The slaughtering, the casualties – So I ran. Went AWOL."

I swallowed hard at his confession. He hadn't been discharged, honorably, or dishonorably – yet. He was a _deserter_. And he'd deliberately kept that detail from my father who esteemed his life in the military. The stack of compact discs I'd held in my hands, was set down on top of my book shelf and I trotted across the room. "You didn't run alone, did you?"

"No. Ten of us got out, but we didn't all make it. We had to scatter."

Ten? Nearly half of an entire team gone, rebelled. Those men were probably dead. Rick thought so too. His brows knitted together as his gaze grew distant with guilt.

"Been running for about a week before your father found me. Agent Dixon was the last one left with me, but we got separated. In the woods, the soldiers hunting us caught up to us, they attacked and we fought back."

"The gash at the back of your head?"

"Yeah…Don't remember what happened after everything went black. By the time I came to, Dixon was gone, the men…dead on the ground beside me, and I was lost, with no memory. I just started walking, in no particular direction." He leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees. "I don't sleep anymore." His hands fidgeted, and I stared at them, remembering how their tender movements only an hour ago soothed me. To him, those same hands brought about destruction and ruin. It was difficult for me to reconcile the two.

 _'He was a broken man, and we foolishly thought we could fix him with our simple, country living,'_ Mama commented once, whilst on the phone chatting with Tyreese. Was she right? Was this man beyond repair? A part of me couldn't believe so.

I sat on the carpet before him with my legs folded beneath me. "You should stay."

He stopped fidgeting, and glimpsed up for a second. "Yeah?"

Trying not to take offense at the suspicious glint in his eyes, I smiled and nodded.

His face went red. "I can't."

"Why not? They won't look for you here."

"Maybe not today, not tomorrow, but they'll come. And they'll find me. They'll find you." Stretching out his arm, he traced a finger alongside my face. "That guy from before."

I inhaled a sharp breath and held it. "Mike?"

"Don't ever let him touch you again, understood?"

"I won't." Not that I'd had much choice in the matter hours ago. But I wondered if Rick thought I was one of those girls. The type to forgive and forget even the most horrible grievances. Although I'd chosen not to officially report Mike's disgusting ass, it didn't mean I would've been willing to take him back either.

"If he comes round, tries anything –"

"I'll kill him. Make it look like an accident." I half-jested. My face, dead fucking serious.

He smiled. "God Michonne, no. Tell your father. You can trust him to take care of you."

"How about I just burn down his new car?" His pretty 'Bimmer' would've looked prettier on fire.

He dipped his head and laughed.

"Or knock him out," I further suggested, playing out the fantasy. "Drop him at the bottom of a lake?" I angled my neck to the side to recapture his gaze. "You could help me with that."

"Stop." He shook his head amused. "Let's not joke about that, because I'm already inclined….more than."

More than, he said, his eyes twinkling with delight as he gazed at me, and I blushed. We're kidding around about murder, sort of, and my stomach was doing that…funny thing again. This time though, that twinging and fluttering didn't fill me with fear. No. I breathed it in. This time I allowed it to sweep through my entire body.

Rick wasn't judging me, he never did, and only in that moment on that night, did I really let go of my conjectures and acknowledged his intentions as genuine.

"All those things," I said," you were saying before, about talking to someone, I take it you've been to therapy?"

"Well yes, and no. Where your Dad left me, they made me sit in a few sessions with a Doctor Monroe."

"Marilyn?" I joked.

"Deanna…" he chuckled, "…and no relation either. But I, I didn't stay for more than four days. Daryl – Agent Dixon – found me. It was the darndest thing. But then again, he was our best tracker."

I rocked back onto my heels fiddling with my hands in silence for awhile. "Mike, was the first person I'd called when I got my acceptance letter from Spelman. Not my parents, or my best friend Andrea. I called him. He was my guy. I didn't have to think twice about it, just grabbed up the phone, and started dialing, was so excited to share my good news with him.

"Hours later, he showed up here, with flowers, a new dress, surprising me by taking me out to dinner. Went to an upscale French restaurant downtown, just the two of us, and had a great time. That night, he made me feel so special. But tonight? I don't think I could ever understand what he made me feel like tonight."

Rick's gaze steeled with remorse. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's… Thank you." I hadn't said that to him for all the time we spent talking. How unacceptable, how atrocious of me. So I said it again. "No, really. Thank you, for…"

He cupped my chin. "You need to go back to bed, and get some rest."

Nodding my head, I complied. He turned down my sheets, and unfolded my blanket as I climbed in on top of my mattress. He tucked me in, bent over and kissed my forehead. And I let him.

"I'll keep your secrets and you'll keep mine," he whispered.

Tilting my chin I looked up into his eyes as he hovered. The air got sucked out of the room. A torrent of emotions towards him, rushed through me, the chief of which was gratitude. "One day." I thought that if given a second chance, I could prove to be more of a trusting friend, than a suspicious foe.

"Ahh…Your mother won't want that now. Having me here? And as I recall, which I do now—everything, quite explicitly—you weren't so keen to have me around either."

"I couldn't figure you out."

"Was hardly myself. I was…scared."

"So was I."

"And," he drawled giving me a mock quizzical look, "you're not anymore?"

Yes. Shitless. My body kept betraying me every time I looked at him. "No." I shook my head. "I-I'm glad you came back." My hand brushed the letter he wrote on my bedside table. "To let my parents know, that you're better."

He straightened up. "Not quite, like I said, but I've made a start. And well I owe them. I owe all of you."

* * *

When it was almost five a.m. Rick snuck back out, got into his truck, and drove off. An hour and a half later, our doorbell rang while we were all at the dining table. Daddy got up to answer the door and, as to be expected, with a bright smile and his arms wide open, he embraced Rick, surprised and touched to see him standing in good form on our front porch. What I didn't anticipate was the huge measure of relief reflected in my father's face.

I was glad I'd convinced Rick to change his plans, to stick around and thank Daddy, give him his letter, face to face for at least one minute.

However, Mama thought otherwise. "Well don't just have the man standing out there Jack," she'd said, as we all huddled together in the foyer. "Let him in."

"Uh actually, that's quite alright," Rick said. "Not here to stay Ma'am. Not this time."

She gave him an arched look. "We got a platter full of eggs and Blueberry pancakes, made from scratch, and at least five of 'em has your name on it."

Rick had cleared his throat in protest, but it proved futile. Mother invoked her authoritative voice whilst nudging me forward quite embarrassingly. "Michonne, tell this young man to come and sit with us for breakfast. Which is getting cold by the way."

"Just breakfast?" My shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug, when secretly I was a bit gleeful for my mother's obstinacy.

He glanced around at the four pairs of eyes trained on him in anticipation. "Yeah…O-okay. Just for breakfast."

"Ahh," With a wide grin, Daddy put his sizeable arm around Rick's shoulders and gave him vigorous shake. "Best not to say no to these Williams women. Things always work out better that way."

It didn't take long before Rick got settled in a chair with his own stack of pancakes dripping in Maple syrup, just the way he'd liked it, along with a tall chilled glass of Oj. As the morning meal carried on, the discussion bounced back and forth between Daddy bragging about Tyreese and his new team of high quality of players, and Sasha boasting about achieving her yellow belt before that dweeb Bob who poked fun at her in her karate class.

Rick slid into conversation mode comfortably, reestablishing his easy rapport with my family like he'd never left. He even confessed his real name to them. But they still called him 'Adam' regardless. Mama inquired where he was heading to afterwards, and Rick admitted he had his sights set on California. Mama's face lit up. She'd never been to the West coast, but heard from an old doctor friend whose sister's ex-husband's brother, had bought a beautiful house right out on the shores of Malibu.

"Who dat Penny?" My father asked. "Jimmy? Calvin's old man?"

"No, his name was something like…Bertram, I think. Anyways shush, you don't know the man."

"I know everybody from round here. And everybody knows me." Daddy grabbed the carton of juice and refilled Rick's empty glass. "Born and raised in this town with my five brothers and sisters, Adam. My roots go way back. Great-grandparents were original inhabitants of St. Joseph. Hardly any strangers I don't acquaint myself with."

Rick visibly swallowed. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, I interrupted by roping my mother into a separate conversation. "Mama wants me to get the hell out of this swamp state and go live in a big city."

"Ain't nothing wrong with spreading your wings baby," Mama wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Look at your brother Tyreese."

"I don't know about that, Mrs. Williams," Rick said, picking up his beverage. "No offense now, but she might surprise you. Probably would come right back here, design a few parks for this town and throughout the state."

I drew my bottom lip between my teeth, surprised by his estimation. He was right, that's what I wanted. But, how did he know that? I couldn't recall ever mentioning my dream of becoming a landscape architect, or that my preference was to live out the rest of my life in Alabama, staying close to home.

"I'm not saying no Adam, just she's young and bright. A young woman should see the world and what it has to offer before she takes up with a husband, and settles to build a family of her own. It's sickening to live with regrets."

I sighed. We've had this talk before. She was projecting again. "Mama, it's a different time. I can do both."

"Don't give me no lip Michonne," she said, just as the doorbell rang again. "That's not what I meant."

Before I could defend myself, she got up and answered the door. Two seconds later, Mama reappeared at the archway.

"Jack, baby? There's two men here to see you." Her honeyed voice was contradicted, however, by a thinly veiled expression of panic and confusion.

Daddy furrowed his brows and grunted. "At this time in the morning? Not Jehovah's Witnesses are they? Too early for them to come knocking…" His voice trailed when he swung around and took notice of his wife's alarmed demeanor. "Penny?"

Her fingers tucked in the back of her hairnet. "No. No, not Witnesses." She then shot Rick an unmistakable pointed look, and a stone dropped in my stomach. "Men in black suits…with a black jeep…They have questions."

Daddy sprung up and took one step towards Mama. He bent and kissed her on her forehead, and then whispered something in her ear. When Rick also jumped up out of his seat, Daddy held out his palm to him. "Hold on, now. Wait. May not be anything son. But, if need be, I'll – I'll stall them as long as I'm able." With a quick nod my father briskly headed to greet the early morning callers.

As soon as we heard the front door close behind him, my mother snatched Rick's wrist. "Quick, the basement."

Rick pulled back and shook his head. "B-but, how?"

"My husband's been stuck on you. You and your operation 'Adam,'" was all she whispered.

His face paled and dread flashed in his eyes. "That's classified," he said. "I have to leave. The woods."

Although her eyes darted back and forth between the kitchen side door and the front of the house, Mama didn't falter. "Alright then, upstairs." She trusted his judgement.

Mama released her grip on Rick and we all snuck across the narrow corridor before scampering up the stairway on our tiptoes, careful not to make much of a sound. A confused Sasha was shuffled into her room, instructed to remain quiet no matter what she heard and Mama dashed back downstairs. Meanwhile, Rick and I bolted down the hallway into to my parents' bedroom, shutting the door behind us. With my pulse thump-thumping at a hundred beats per second, I moved over to the window that led out into the backyard and shoved it open.

Both Rick and I peered down at the 15-foot drop and I asked, "Can you make it?"

"Yeah. Piece of cake."

Heavy footsteps shuffled around downstairs followed by my father's booming voice. "Make yourselves comfortable officers. You're free to look around." Our heads snapped towards the door.

 _'Shit!'_

My throat went dry and guilt bubbled inside of me. I should've let him leave when he intended to. With a not-so-gentle nudge I urged Rick to get going. But suddenly, I remembered. "Your truck."

"Keep it. Drive yourself to Atlanta." He stole another glance at the door behind me, and in the next instant, his strong hands cupped my neck and he pushed his lips against mine. Once…twice… And I froze. His mouth was soft, and warm, and sweet, and I… I froze. Dumbfounded.

He then pulled away and smiled. Smiled! A complete switch in the middle of a nerve-wrecking moment. "I'll come see you," he whispered.

As much adrenaline that was coursing through my veins, my heart goddamned stopped, my mind went blank. "You should go."

He stuck one leg out of the small opening. "As soon as I get to some place safe, if I could write to you I'd like that."

I nodded. "Goodbye. And good luck."

A moment later, he swung out the window, scaled down the side of my house, and disappeared through the thick grove of Scarlet oak trees.

* * *

It would be a mere three weeks before I received my first letter from Rick. He and his buddy were on the road roaming from state to state., keeping a low profile, avoiding the authorities. Yet, a whole year…year and a half, had passed before I actually laid eyes on Rick Grimes again.

And only because, it was the worst day of my life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3: The Funeral**

 _18 months later_

The saddest moment in my family's life occurred in 1988, when my mother, who at five months pregnant with her fourth child, suffered a late miscarriage. The unexpected loss was of course heartbreaking and devastating, not only for her and daddy, but for everyone, including an astute Sasha who was just two years old at the time.

However, nine years later, my clan endured another loss, one more tragic and entirely unbearable. On the morning of December 10th 1997, we, together with half of the residents of St. Joseph, braced the wintry weather, to stand outside in the Saint Angelina's cemetery for the burial of the town's own local paragon – Jack Henderson Williams – my father.

And yet, I did not cry. I did not holler, and I did not scream.

I wanted to, but I couldn't. My mother had said so. She'd said,

 _"Be strong."_

Bang!

 _"Don't cry."_

Bang!

 _"Don't make a scene."_

Bang!

The white gloved riflemen, in their crisp, formal uniforms raised their hands in salute to the flag covered mahogany casket ready to be lowered into the ground, like an offering. An offering to Sheol: The common grave of mankind.

"The place that's devoid of love, hate, envy, work, thought, knowledge, and wisdom," Pastor Stokes read from his holy bible.

The only word that struck a chord with me was _'Devoid.'_ That's how I felt. Dark, vacant, and purposeless, as I stared into that black hole. Knowing fully well that a significant part of my essence was also about to be buried forever six feet under.

The grounds resplendent under a blanket of white snow, while the towering trees, surrounding the graveyard, looked eerie with their bare branches resembling malnourished limbs, sharp, pointed, and ominous.

Tyreese's huge frame shook from him sobbing uncontrollably. He clutched Sasha's hand as she wept quietly. My mother and I, however, remained stoic. Her, with a smile. Me, with a scowl. Her words on repeat in my mind.

 _"Be strong. Don't cry. Don't make a scene."_

Mama abhorred pity, her lips pursed in a thin line after she'd whispered to me, "We'll mourn in private. Afterwards. When they all leave."

Therefore, I refused to let it in — the sadness, the disappointment, the overwhelming pain of simply wanting my father back. I became a wall, and I stayed numb. For an entire week, I focused on what needed to be done –The legal paperwork, the Death certificate, the funeral arrangements, and so on.

Our relatives, on the other hand, wailed and sobbed before Daddy's graveside, giving free reign to their grief as the Taps played on the trumpet, and I thought, enough. Enough of this bullshit.

I turned, and walked away.

* * *

An hour later, our humble abode had been swarmed by family, friends, flowers and food. And Mama, beautiful and elegant, at the center of the welcomed invasion. Buzzing around like a queen bee comforting those who were there to comfort her.

But what about me?

No, I had to keep busy, make myself useful. And I did. Away from the chatter, in the kitchen I sorted out the " _So sorry for your loss"_ dishes. The casseroles, the sandwiches, the pasta and potato salads, and of course the cakes, just to name a few. While I had a dozen cousins and aunts helping out with serving the food, Tyreese had his hands full entertaining our older guests as they exchanged stories of Daddy, celebrating his good name, his big heart, and his talent to spread unfeigned joy.

I glanced around at the throng of people spilling in and out of the house, and I caught a glimpse of Sasha's braids bouncing behind her, as she dodged her way in between the adults, running around, having fun with her best friends Maggie and Glenn from school. I felt grateful that at least for now she was distracted from her grief. Still, I couldn't help but harbor some level of resentment for myself.

In any case, the scene was familiar. A small town with a large, extended family, just like weddings and christenings, funerals too were plentiful in our brood. So, I moved almost on automatic. Directing what went where, and who did what.

As I refilled a clean tray with Uncle Troy's deviled eggs, the usual favorite that seemed to be going fast, someone called out for my attention.

"Babe, need me to help you with that? You could go take a load off."

I glanced up. Jermaine approached me after wiggling through the crowd. He set down the near empty pitcher of iced tea he'd held in his hand in the kitchen sink, and stretched out his long arms to take the platter of hors d'oeuvres from off the countertop. His voice was kind, and warm, and confident, but his expression was clueless. As all new boyfriends, he had no idea what it was I needed.

For example, even though I specifically told him not to follow me home from Atlanta, he disregarded my request, and still showed up the day before on my mother's doorstep. I appreciated his fervent concern, but, our relationship just wasn't there yet. Nonetheless, I didn't even have it in me to get angry, I just settled with feeling slightly annoyed.

"That's okay, I got it." I stepped back, and shrugged one shoulder. But I couldn't help but admire him in his tailored made black suit, offset by his gold and white, polka-dot silk bow tie, and his rimless squared glasses which gave the Art student a rather sophisticated look. With the exception of his paint-stained Chuck Taylors.

"You sure?" He leaned his tall, narrow frame towards me, and flashed his heart-stopping, dimpled smile. An immediate reminder of why I'd allowed him to stay. "I know I've been asking you this like a million times, but you're good?"

"I'm good."

His long fingers gripped my black sweater dress at my hips and drew me close to him. My heart skipped a beat at the smell of his cologne. "Yo, you wanna get outta here? Go for a drive? Blast some Monica as loud as you want on my stereo? I don't mind, anything you want." Hooking my chin with his finger he bent and dropped a kiss on my lips. He tasted like lemon and sugar.

Distinct giggles escaped my younger relatives who stood idly-by, and I blushed. Tilting my head, I considered his offer for a second. Why not go somewhere, take a spin? I thought. Would it matter much if I'd disappeared for twenty minutes, clear my head, catch my breath?

Mimicking my expression, Jermaine cocked his head, his long dark lashes brushed against his lens as he studied me, whilst also trying to be enticing. I glanced up at the perfect waves in his short-cropped hair, marked with perfect edges that accentuated his perfectly smooth, russet brown skin. I resisted the urge to caress his concerned face.

"I can't leave," I grabbed up the tray of eggs, "You should though. Can't miss finals."

"Come on now," he sighed, "don't be like that. Just… just talk to me. I'm here for you."

"I don't feel like talking. Not now." I nodded towards a cheesecake. "How about you help me with desserts?" Not wanting to debate any longer, I slipped by passed him, and wormed my way into the living room.

"Michonne." In an instant, my mother accosted me wanting to introduce an old friend of hers from nursing school. The older woman expressed her condolences whilst also singing Mama's praises, and remarking just how much I resembled Penelope when she was my age.

But my attention wandered to the visitors milling about outside on the front porch, clutching their coats close enduring the biting cold with mugs of steaming hot coffee. One visitor in particular, not wearing black, caught my eye. Dressed in a familiar tan jacket over a green sweater with a striped scarf around his neck, the weary looking individual barged passed everyone right through the front door.

My pulse quickened, and I openly gaped, before I found myself drifting, away from my mother, and towards him. "You came?"

With a pained expression, he strode over to me the second he saw me. "As soon as I got your message."

My mother released a heavy sigh from behind. "Oh Adam!"

He dropped his duffel bag and brushed his knuckles against my cheek. "Are you alright?"

My breath caught in my throat, my body went limp, and my chin trembled. "My Daddy died."

Dejection clouded his eyes as his hands took hold of my arms. "I'm so sorry about that," his voice choked, "He was a great man."

"The best."

"No Michonne," Mama snatched my elbow, "keep it together. Please. Just bear up for a little while longer. For me?"

Gripping the platter tighter in my hands so it wouldn't crash to the floor, I bit the corner of my lower lip and gave her a quick nod .

Rick shot Mama a side look, and placed his hands over mine. "Let go."

I shook my head. "I'm fine. We have guests." But I could already feel the tears trickling down my cheek.

Mama wiped her palm across my face. "Baby girl, please. If you break, I'll break." She lifted the tray from my hands. "Look, give me this… Adam, please, take her upstairs. Help her to be strong. Don't let her make a scene, now ain't the time for her to be crying."

* * *

Sitting at the edge of Tyreese's bed, with an unnatural stillness, I avoided meeting Rick's gaze as he stood across the room, a mere 4 feet away, and anchored a watchful eye on me. My sudden burst of emotion left me stunned, and I remained quiet, wondering what the hell just happened.

"If you're up for it," he suddenly said, his back up against the door with one leg bent, "could you tell me, how did he die?"

I nodded. In my haste to get back home, my last correspondence was abrupt, I'd written but one line.

Taking in a deep breath, I told him everything.

Like a bursting dam of information, every little detail was explained to him. How the week before, on Tuesday night, after leaving for work at his usual time, Daddy had, for a few hours, gone missing. That his co-workers, noticing the time tick by, knew that it was unlike Jack to miss his shift without so much as a phone call or text message to say anything. One of them tried his cell but got no response, then they contemplated calling the house. But as speculations started flying they decided to hold off in case you know he needed to make a 'pit stop' and they didn't want to get the boss into "hot waters with the Mrs." Because, as Charlie, the main forklift driver, put it, _"that ain't our business."_

As I rambled, Rick lifted his brows and his eyes widened as though he were following. Rubbing my palms down my thighs, I took that as a cue to keep going.

I told him how it was Ramesh, the stock clerk, who eventually contacted home to find out if he was alright. But, of course, he wasn't here. Not being able to get through to Daddy's cell number either, my mother didn't hesitate to ring the police before she organized both herself and Sasha, jumped in her car and went out to search for him.

And well... she found him.

The cops and an ambulance, however, were already there at the crash site. I told him how my mother said she'd blacked out when she saw that his truck had ran off the road, and slammed into a tree. Officer Beaumont accompanied her and Sasha in a second bus to the hospital.

When she regained control of her senses, the doctors said my father suffered from a ruptured brain aneurysm whilst driving, and that was the probable cause of the accident. Mama felt somewhat responsible. She'd been a RN for over ten years, how could she not know? Her husband had complained of a severe headache and a stiff neck. She encouraged him to take some painkillers, which he did, and off he went.

I told Rick how before daylight, I'd gotten that horrid phone call that changed my entire life, but I'd compartmentalized my emotions, and by the end of the day I'd driven straight home.

"I still need him," I said, as I managed to glance up at Rick in the midst of my babbling. "It's not fair. He didn't deserve to die that way."

"No, you're right. He didn't, and it isn't."

"He should be here with us. I mean he was – Just two weeks ago, at Thanksgiving." The Universe, or God, or whomever, really screwed up with this one. Jack Williams, of all people, should've lived till at least ninety. "It just doesn't seem—"

"Real?" he offered. "Yeah, for a long time that's how it'll be. Until you learn to accept it."

I stood up and paced the floor. "I've been trying, really, but I don't think that I can. I tried to keep a rational mind, maintain some perspective, but the truth is, if I did, if I acknowledged the fact that my father is dead and buried, forty years too soon, it would kill me." It was as simple as that.

Rick chuckled, my feet paused and I lifted my gaze to his to find him staring at me, with, of all things, a teasing smile.

He crossed his arms against his chest and pushed himself off the door. "Seriously? It'll take more than a week."

"Of course, you're right." Despite my somberness, a slow grin built, but I hid my reaction by waving off his mocking tone. It actually then occurred to me, just how much I had been talking. Like I couldn't control myself. I couldn't stop. And truthfully, it felt great to unload on someone. The whole time since I'd returned home I never spoke a single word of how wretched I'd been feeling, not even to Mama.

But in that room, I said it all without holding back, and I breathed for the first time in seven days.

Rick shifted nearer to me. "I want to tell you something." After sliding his hand over his hair and gripping the back of his neck, he, in a hushed voice confessed about his own experience of losing his parents, both at once, when he was only thirteen.

To be honest, the fact he was an orphan never slipped my mind, and I paid rapt attention as he confided about the drunk driver who cut Mr. and Mrs. Grimes' lives short, as they were only in their mid-thirties. For Rick, he said that to him, the world ceased to make any sense. Somewhat of a troublemaker, he'd felt it was retribution for something awful he must have done. And he'd held on to that belief for years.

"Again, I'm so sorry, Michonne," he apologized. "About your Dad, and about not coming to see you before this. I should've come sooner."

"No, don't. Honestly, I didn't expect you to."

"I made a promise."

"You did?" I shrugged, not quite remembering those precise words. Not when he'd climbed out of my parents back window, and not in the dozen or so messages he'd sent. "At least I have your letters. You started out well." During the summer, before I moved to Atlanta, Rick and I wrote to each other a total of six times. He'd let me know that he was safe, and where in the country he'd happened to be. And I updated him on the well-being of the Williams family.

After that, however, his correspondence became less and less. At first, I was disappointed, I had to admit, but it wasn't long before my new life at Spelman took off in a whirlwind.

"Yeah," he said, "things got difficult. Kept getting pushed around. Always watching our backs, Dixon and I couldn't settle down anywhere for too long. Not for awhile."

"And now?"

"Now things are quiet, things are okay. I got employment at a lumberyard. Daryl thinks it's whack, but hey, we're surviving keeping a low profile. How about you? Everything's okay with school?"

"Yeah, I'm surviving… Up until now, life's been pretty great."

"Was real smart of you though, to suggest setting up an email account. I don't have regular access but, when I did I was glad to get your message."

I was glad too. Relieved over the easiness that settled upon me, I allowed myself to casually peruse his appearance. His hair had grown so long it formed thick curls at the nape of his neck. His jaw and his chin were well hidden underneath a heavy beard.

Acknowledging my obvious interest in his lack of grooming, he took my hand and rubbed it against his scraggly cheek. Ignoring the shiver that zipped through my body, I wrinkled my nose at him.

"What? You don't like it?" he teased.

I shook my head and smiled. "You gonna stay awhile?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Just a little while."

My lips curled with satisfaction at his answer.

Unexpectedly, there was an urgent knock at the door.

"Hey shortie. Michonne? You in there?"

 _'Jermaine.'_

My heart lurched and I snatched my hand back from Rick. He stepped aside so I could walk around him and edge out the door.

"What happened?" Jermaine analyzed me from head to toe. "I couldn't find you. Your Moms was just telling me you've been up here cause you needed a moment to rest. But like not ten minutes ago, you were good."

"I know, I know. And I was, but now I had to take some time to lie down. Understand?"

"Yeah, of course," he breathed a sigh of relief. "It's just like, you disappeared on me, and I was worried. That's all," he sighed again and grasped my shoulders. "Listen, can I…can I get you something? I could fix you a plate, or not."

I smiled at his consideration. He really was so adorable. "No thanks, still can't eat."

"Well alright, how about we chill together. I could hang out with you, keep you company while you rest."

I shook my head vigorously, pressing my palm against his chest, pushing him back. "No. But… come on," I held his hand and led him towards the stairs. "Let me pack you something for the road. I appreciate your support, but you should get back." As he was a senior, I knew he had a lot of work to catch up on for his assessment.

Halfway down the staircase, he stopped and pulled his hand away, instead, circling his arms around my waist. "Hey, I'm crazy about you. You know that, right? And I…"

"Me too," I whispered. His eyes sparkled, and god I felt like shit. Because I just wanted him to leave. "Call me though, as soon as you get back."

"I will."

I tiptoed to give Jermaine a discreet kiss. And although my back was turned, I knew he was watching me. I could feel those cool blue eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.

* * *

For the balance of the semester, I chose not to return to Spelman. There were only a few weeks left and in any case at home was where I was needed. With everyone gone – the sympathetic loved ones, including Tyreese – silence settled in the house, along with gloom and despondency as Mama finally surrendered to her melancholy. I didn't have to face the challenge alone though. With Mama's permission, Rick stuck around. The only requirements were that he shaved his 'crazy man' beard, and he let Mama cut his 'unruly vagabond' hair.

As time went by, most of my mother's days were spent either in her garden, or in her bedroom. Which meant that most of _my_ days were spent managing the bills, helping Mama settle Daddy's bank accounts, his insurance policies, and going grocery shopping to replenish the dwindling supplies.

Rick and Sasha, fortunately, fell into their own routine. He drove her to and from school, made sure she didn't miss any more of her karate classes, and did his best to figure out fifth grade algebra while Sasha baked him batches of brownies.

After dinner, Mama, Rick and I, cloaked in blankets, would find ourselves out on the front porch reminiscing about Daddy, well past midnight. A bottle of Jack Daniels, and three glasses sat between us. My age had been excused as Mama and I staved off our sadness. Rick, his nightmares.

Any embarrassing stories Mama shared would be prefaced by " _Now I know it's in poor taste to speak ill of the dead, but…"_

Whenever her emotions got the better of her, though, we'd switch and play '20 questions', or, Rick's favorite 'Never have I ever.'

One night, it was just Mama and I outside on the patio swing, pigging out on M&Ms and Kit Kat and alcohol.

"Look at us Baby girl," Mama poured her second helping of whiskey, "we out here giggling like two school girls. No wonder Rick done left us."

"I think he went to bed because you were trying to teach him 'Oh Happy Days,' and really he can't sing a lick."

She chuckled some more. "True. He sounded terrible. Oh, that reminds me, that nice boy? Jermaine? He called again today, while you were out getting me my collards and beans. Said something about something…" Her words trailed as she helped herself to a generous sip of her honey colored liquor.

"Something like what?" I pressed.

"Wants to come see you baby. Maybe this weekend after Christmas?" she shrugged. "If it was okay with me of course."

My back straightened from its slouched position and my jaw twitched.

"Relax. I told him that now we ain't up to it— hosting guests." She then shook with laughter. "God baby, you should see the look on your face. Plain horror. Lord listen, if you don't like the brotha –"

"I do."

"Oh pfft! Because I'm a widow now that don't make me blind, deaf and dumb."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you stringing him along when your heart ain't in it. And let's be real, you too busy eyeing secret soldier in there and his little tush. You ain't smoothe."

My jaw fell open. "Mama!"

"Michonne!" she mocked with a drawl, "Might be down and out, but I still keeps a check on what's going on in my house. Besides, ain't nothing wrong with looking baby... Long as you just looking. You're not hitched to Jermaine or anything, but it ain't Christian to play games. What you do to that boy that got him so sprung anyway?" Her palm then flew up and she shook her head. "Wait, no. Don't answer that. It's better if I could go on believing you're still a good girl."

My face grew heated. "I am." At the time it was the truth. Not that I hadn't come real close before, more than a few times with Jermaine. But, even though I really liked him, Mama was right, my heart had never been in it.

"Mmhm." Her face turned serious. Too serious.

What? Did she have a spy in my dorm room? Drawing my blanket tighter, as though I were trying to hide from my mother my 'dirty' secrets, I glanced away placing my head on the backrest, and hugging a knee to my chest. "Tomorrow," I said, putting an end to the awkward conversation, "I'll talk to him."

"It's the right thing to do. With regards to Rick though, I reckon he is a good man. Your father been right about him." She closed her eyes and drained her whiskey. "My Jack been right about a lot of things."

"Is that why you let him live with us now?"

She nodded slowly. "Your Daddy wouldn't approve a me turning him away. Not when he came round with good intentions. To pay his respects. But even so, I just lost the love of my life, and I ain't got it in me to be no Mama bear these days. So, take a moment and heed my words, Michonne. Tread lightly."

* * *

Later that night, a scream jolted me from my sleep. Breathless, I ran out into the living room to discover Rick on the couch, thrashing about and groaning, in the middle of a fitful episode. My legs hustled to the kitchen, fetched a glass of water and a towel before scurrying back to ease him out of his disturbed sleep. As soon as I called out his name he jumped up in a panic, his breathing labored and in bursts.

I placed his shaky hands on the glass. "Drink." As he gulped the cool liquid I dabbed the towel across his sweaty forehead and down his flushed neck.

"Michonne?" My mother appeared behind me at the foot of the staircase.

"He's okay Mama. I got him."

"You sure?"

I nodded.

"Okay, keep him calm." After she paused for another beat or two, I turned and studied her. Her eyes were haggard and red. She'd been up crying, again.

"Mama, can I get you anything?"

With a quick flick of her wrist she dismissed my concern and traipsed back up the stairs.

Returning my attentions to Rick, I rest the cloth beside him. "Slowly, breathe slowly."

He followed my instructions trying to regain his composure, but his movements were jerky.

"You're okay." I ran my thumbs along his white knuckles. "Say it with me. You're okay."

"I… I'm okay," he moaned.

"You're safe."

"I'm safe."

"And it was just a dream." When he didn't respond, I squeezed his fingers for him to repeat my words. "Rick."

"No. No I did those things," he muttered under his breath. "That was real." His gaze lifted from the floor, misted with a haunted look.

My throat constricted. The depth of pain and regret he must've felt, and the hell of having to live with himself, was beyond the grasp of my imagination. My heart hurt for him. "You need more water." When I took his glass and tried to get up, he clutched my hands tugging me close.

"No. I need you. Stay. I need you." He pressed his forehead on top of my shoulder. "Just give me a minute."

"Wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head. "Just wanna forget."

My hand passed along the back of his cool, damp hair. "Okay. Come on." I stood pulling him up with me and led him down the hallway to my room.

After helping him out of his wet t-shirt, giving him a dry replacement, I pointed towards my Cd collection. "Which one?"

He slid out my 'Best of Al Green' album and asked for track number three. With 'Let's stay together' playing softly from my stereo, I allowed him to climb into my bed with me, handing him my novel from my nightstand.

He scrunched his face. "Julia Quinn, Minx? We're reading romance now?"

"It's a historical romance. Have you ever tried it?"

"No. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a guy. I'm pretty sure I won't like it."

"I'm pretty sure you would. Here," I took it back from him, and flipped it open to chapter one.

"Michonne, come on."

"No, you come on. Be quiet, lie back, and listen." I turned and kneeled in front of him sitting back on my heels. I became theatrical – adjusting my invisible spectacles, flicking my hair back, and clearing my throat one too many times, in a rather un-ladylike fashion.

He smiled and poked me with his foot. "Start already."

"O-kay." I stifled a laugh. "Prologue. London, 1816. William Dunford, snorted with disgust, as he watched his friends gaze longingly into each other's eyes." I glimpsed up at Rick just in time to see him rolling his eyes. But I ignored his rudeness and continued anyway. "Lady Arabella Blydon, one of his best friends these past two years, had just gotten herself married to Lord John Blackwood, and now they were looking at each other as if they wanted to eat each other up. It was revoltingly cute."

"Stop. This is just plain revolting."

Grinning at him I let the book fall into my lap. "But I've only just started the story. You're not giving it a fair chance."

"Ahh give me that." He tried to snatch it out of my hands, but I yanked it back.

"Dunford," I continued, twisting slightly out of his reach, "tapped his foot and rolled his eyes, hoping they would be able to tear themselves apart."

"I'm gonna tear that crap apart." Rick lunged forward, wrapping one arm around my waist, dragging my body closer to him in an effort to steal the novel from my grasp.

I stretched my arm far away from his reach laughing hysterically. He flipped me onto my back and the book went flying out of my hands landing with barely a thud on my carpeted floor. I looked up into his sparkling eyes, admiring the playful fire dancing there as he hovered over me. He grinned from ear to ear, and I swiped back the lone curl dangling on his forehead.

"Feeling better?" I asked.

"Much," he answered.

I allowed my fingertips to brush across to his temple and sliding them down to the defined line of his cheekbone. So handsome. In a boy-next-door sort of way, the boy with terrifying secrets. Secrets that could get you killed. Rick was not someone I should trust, or like… or love.

His thumb grazed my jaw in return, back and forth, and we both don't speak for a full minute. Well, not out loud, not with our vocal chords. It was one of those tricky conversations, where a mutual exchange is understood and accepted with a mere look of your eyes. The kind that's so intimate and revealing it leaves you both terrified and captivated, and also expectant.

Despite my pulse throbbing at full speed, I wanted to remain in that perfect little moment forever.

But, we didn't have forever. No one does.

Any morning I was liable to wake up and find Rick no longer there. Gone, vanished from my life, leaving behind only traces of his existence. Leaving me behind aching and wanting and dreaming.

 _'Tread lightly.'_

I rose onto my elbows, hooked my fingers to the back of his neck, and pulled his mouth towards mine. He tasted the same as I'd remembered, but he felt… different. As I kissed him, his lips did move beneath my own, slow, a bit hesitant, and cautious.

Was I making a mistake? Did he not want this?

I stopped, and looked up at him, questioning. But his eyes were closed, his breath shaky. He was…nervous? I'd assumed. I mean, after all, he was kissing Mrs. Penelope Williams' daughter under the woman's own roof whilst she slept in ignorance upstairs in her room. However, when Rick opened his gem-like eyes, his gaze roamed my face, traveled down to my chest and back up again, before fixating on my mouth with a hungry, dark look. I bit my lower lip and pressed my hand against the ridge of his chest, his heart was hammering. Like mine.

It wasn't nervousness, it was desire. And he was fighting to control himself. Which, to be quite honest, caused the already ignited burn low in my stomach, to flare to a sizzling heat. Unrestrained, I balled his T-shirt in a fist and drew him back to my lips with such force he knew I meant business. His hesitancy dissolved in an instant, and I felt his arm slide around my torso to return me onto my back. His other hand reached around to my neck, his thumb tilting my chin up to meet his tongue as he deepened the kiss. Oh god. He felt good. Just like I'd imagined. And hell yes, I did spend a lot of time imagining. I hooked my ankle in between his legs, and his hand slid down my arm scorching my flesh before finding and entangling our fingers together.

We remained in that position, we took it no further.

At least for that first night.

Each one thereafter, we pushed past a new boundary, peeled back an extra layer, unveiled another facet of our attraction to, and our admiration for, each other. Until finally, the spark between us pulsed, throbbed and intensified to the point of demanding our complete surrender.

"Happy New Year." His lips brushed against my ear, as I curled my back against the heat of his hard chest, his arm hooked around my stomach, and his fingers danced across my naked flesh.

"Happy New Year," I whispered back as I drifted off into the sweetest sleep.

* * *

"Hey, if you see any almonds, could you grab me a bag?" Rick asked, as he pulled his mini-van into the second aisle of pumps at the local BP gas station.

"Natural or roasted?" I unbuckled my seat belt and grabbed my purse from the dashboard.

"It don't matter really. You pick."

"Okay," I leaned across the handbrakes and kissed him, "I'll be back in a minute."

"Take your time, we might be here for awhile." He nodded ahead at the three other vehicles waiting in line.

A blast of icy night wind slapped me in my face as I opened the door, prompting me to pull my hoodie up as a shield before darting across the full parking lot to Patty's one-stop shop. Temperatures had plummeted to near freezing within the last few days, and it was a surprise to see so many people brave enough to be out and about.

In less than five minutes, I stood before the clerk with my cash in hand as he bagged my six items. I reached out for a snickers bar tempted to make it seven, but I put it back. The cashier blinked at me and I shook my head. "That'll be all."

For the new year, I'd promised myself to cut back on my calories. School was due to reopen in a couple of days, and I would be swamped with playing catch up, which would drive me to stress eat. Not to mention the challenge of figuring out how to manage a relationship with Rick. I'd dumped one boyfriend to get involved with another, and my mother had some choice words to say about my decision-making skills.

But regardless, I wondered whether or not he would stay in Alabama. Or, would he get a new job and move to Atlanta, to be closer to me? And if he did, should I live with him? Risk giving Mama a heart attack?

I needed to my grit my teeth and broach the topic, that night. I had a sinking feeling in my gut that time was running out.

A moment later, the door dinged as I exited, heading back to the blue mini-van waiting for me. However, my brows knitted when I noticed the vehicle was empty.

"Who are you? A fairy?" someone shouted. "Get away from me you freak!"

My head spun towards the commotion and I caught sight of a huge, bear of a man, agitated as he shoved a smaller-sized individual up against a black GMC truck. I squinted my eyes. My heart picked up speed.

 _'Rick? Shit.'_

My shopping bag got tossed into his van, and I sprinted over to intercept the altercation. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Go back Michonne," Rick ordered. "I'm handling it."

"Handle what?" Red faced, the big dude snatched Rick by the collar of his jacket, and rammed him again into the side of the pick-up. "You need to learn to mind your damned business."

"Get your hands off of him!" My voice shrilled.

"Is that your girl? Hmph, figures." The man glanced at me with a sneer. In his brief moment of distraction, Rick took the angry man by surprise as he swung his arm and struck the dude in his beefy neck. The man gasped and stumbled back, clutching his throat. In a nanosecond, Rick rushed forward and plunged his fist into the bulky man's stomach. The guy's face deepened to a dark red as he doubled over, breathless.

"Next time," Rick growled, "don't cut the fucking line. It's a simple procedure. Asshole."

With my jaw laid out on the floor, I locked my arms around Rick's torso, dragged him past the now honking cars, and jostled him into the van's passenger seat. "You can't be serious," I cried, as I jumped in behind the steering wheel. "We have to go." I backed out of the parking lot and screeched out into the road. "I can't believe you attacked that man."

"He was a jerk!"

"You're overreacting."

"Really? Is that what you think? You weren't there."

"I was gone for five minutes Rick. How could you go from 0-60 in five minutes?"

"You weren't there." He slammed his fist into the ceiling and I flinched. I stared at him in utter disbelief. "He wouldn't listen," he persisted, scrubbing his hand over his face. "That guy, he had it coming… He had it coming."

With my heartbeat pounding, and my legs shaking, I said nothing more for the rest of the drive home.

When I turned into our driveway, I switched the ignition off and we both sat there in silence. Something thick and uncomfortable brewing between us.

"I'm sorry," I said after awhile. My gaze zeroed in on my fidgety hands in my lap.

From the corner of my vision, I saw him turn from gaping out of the window to look at me. "For what?"

I shrugged. Truthfully I didn't know how to respond, but the tension between us was literally choking me.

He sighed and leaned over, taking my chin in his hand he lifted my face. "I haven't told you this, but I'm telling you now. Before I came back to the U.S. I was stationed in a place called Polotsk, which is in Belarus. Over there we had to stay on top of things, it was how we were trained. Every second, of every minute of every day counted. That's how you stay alive."

I nodded my understanding.

"My assignment," he continued, "didn't start off bad, but things… happened, and our operation went south. We got pulled out. I could've been killed… a hundred times over, Michonne. But I did what I had to do. What went down back there, at the station, that was me. It's who I am."

I shook my head. "It's who you were. The rules don't apply here, to your way of life anymore." I thought about what if someone called the police? What if that guy went to the station himself and reported the incident? How long would it take for them to find Rick? The last time the officers came asking questions, Rick got lucky but our house was under surveillance for an entire week. "You have to stop and think. You can't just react."

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "You don't understand. You can't."

"I want to."

As though I was no longer there, Rick gazed out ahead of him with an absent look. Maybe it was him who was no longer present in the moment.

The door then flung open, and he got out. I watched his back, as he stomped straight into the house.

Early the next morning, a knock came at my door. Relief seeped into me when I found Rick standing there on the other side. But my relief quickly fell headlong into despair, when I noticed the duffel bag in his hand. "Rick, no. Wait."

He wrapped his arm around my waist and kissed my lips. "It's me," he said, stepping back, "I'm the one who's sorry. The things that I've done, if you only knew you'd never let me touch you, you'd never let me be here. I… I don't deserve this."

"But you love me. I know you do."

"Yeah, I know you know," he cupped my face, "right from the start. But this? This isn't going to work out. I love you Michonne, but I can't. And I'm sorry."

So that was it? He wasn't even going to try? I squeezed my eyes shut, and turned my head to the side. How could a simple disagreement escalate to this? "So you're just giving up? Without a fight? That doesn't make any sense. Everything you're saying is wrong."

"It's better to do this now, before it's too late. I'm not supposed to be with you. I have to forget about you. You, you need to forget about me."

 _'What?'_

For a split second my breathing suspended and tears stung the back of my eyes. Something was happening inside his head. I was talking to a stranger. "No."

"Yes. You have to. Go back to school. Find that Art major guy and have a normal life."

My heart sank and hurt erupted. "Screw you Rick!"

He turned his back and trudged out of the house.

Choking back a sob, I sprinted after him. "Don't leave me."

But he did. He got in his van and left. With no one escorting him out, or chasing him away. He left of his own accord. I couldn't understand why. I was heartbroken.

* * *

 _Two months later._

"Thanks Natalie," I said to my residential advisor as we stepped out of my academic dean's office.

"That's what I'm here for," she replied, throwing her scarf around her neck. "I'll check on you later, alright?"

"Alright," I shrugged as we went our separate ways. Moving down the narrow hallway my hand fumbled inside of my handbag searching out my mobile phone. Once I retrieved the device I dialed home. It was the first time I'd contacted my family in over a month. Battling with my studies, playing catch up, loaded me down and started to take a toll on me.

 _"Hello,"_ My mother answered after the second ring.

" _Hey, it's me. How's everything?"_

 _"Everything's fine. Quiet. Good to hear from you, you alright?"_

 _"Actually… no,"_ I hesitated and drew in a deep breath. _"Mama, I'm coming home early. By the end of the week."_

 _"Michonne, now listen to me, I am fine. Your sister, she's fine. We don't need you here. The best thing, is for you to focus on school. "_

 _"I can't."_

 _"I know you miss him, but you think about your father wanting the world for you? And me? I can't stand you wallowing and sulking forever now… Not over your father. And not over Rick either. Be strong."_

 _"I'm trying,"_ I sighed _. "But I'm not well. I've been sick."_

She paused. " _I could send you some of Aunt Gigi's tonic if you'd like."_

 _"No. I'm sick. I need to come home."_

 _"Is it the flu baby? Like you got the virus?"_

 _"No Mama, not like the virus."_

Silence, then the faintest whisper of my name. _"Michonne?"_

After a long, deafening pause, I heard her sniffling through the receiver. My hand clasped over my mouth to stifle my own sobs of disappointment. _"Mama please, I need to come home."_

 _"Of course,"_ her voice cracked, _"Get here as soon as you can."_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** So this is it y'all, the end of this short story. Oh my goodness, it's four chapters but because they're long, I feel like I've written ten. Lol. I hope this last installment is well received as the others were. Fingers crossed. Most, if not all, of the reviews left me with food for thought. And kept me from straying. So thank you to everyone who shared their opinions, good and bad.

This wasn't a pure romance and so I was unsure if anyone would've been interested. I tried my hand at a more family themed story, and would probably try again at some time in the future. Anyways, no more rambling, except for a special thanks to Richonnelover1941, Nwfanmega, Tigerwalk, Trinrichonnetrash, Member00, and Richonne4life. Because y'all don't hold back. 😁

* * *

 **Part 4: The Reunion**

 _ **From:** _Michonne M. Williams (michonne_williams_5)

 _ **To:** _Theodore 3 Whitman (just4u_summer_1996)

 _ **Subject:** _Where are you?

 ** _Date:_** Mon. 16/03/1998 6:10 AM

Hey,

Rick? I don't know if you're still checking for messages, but I'm going to go ahead and send you one.

First off… I'm not mad. I was. It took me awhile to get here, but I'm here. I'm over it.

Second, I'm in the middle of switching to get into Samford University, which is here, in Alabama. I've decided to move back home. Actually, I don't have a choice. I don't like it. The house, it feels different.

Anyway, I would like to know where you are, if it's not too much to ask, even though you told me to forget about you, still…

I mean I did try, to forget. Not particularly as easy as you would think.

It's been hard. Difficult. I haven't been sleeping.

Do you care?

Write soon.

Bye.

 _ **From:** _Michonne M. Williams (michonne_williams_5)

 _ **To:** _Theodore 3 Whitman (just4u_summer_1996)

 _ **Subject:** _Happy Easter

 ** _Date:_** Fri. 10/04/1998 10:08 AM

Hey,

So, Tyreese is home. He's engaged now. To a lawyer. Her name's Karen and she's gorgeous. Ty got lucky Mama said. She adores her. We all do. She's one of us.

Today's Good Friday and everyone's over at Uncle Kenny's house. But I… I didn't feel up to it.

Truth be told, I haven't been up for much of anything for awhile now. I've even taken the rest of the semester off. Thankfully, I got into the Summer courses.

In any case, I've been thinking a lot about us, about everything you said. About how we got here. And Rick, we need to talk. It's… important.

I know you're working your way up to it. I know you're trying. So, I'm waiting.

Please, write me back. Or call.

I'm home, all the time.

Okay bye.

 ** _From:_** Michonne M. Williams (michonne_williams_5)

 _ **To:**_ Theodore 3 Whitman (just4u_summer_1996)

 ** _Subject:_** We need to talk!

 _ **Date:** _Sun. 10/05/1998 12:17 PM

Rick I am really having a hard time here. I don't understand what's going on. Your account is still active. Are you getting my emails? I need to know. I need to tell you something. This is serious.

I don't mean to rush you but I just got into a seriously huge argument with Mama, and I'm so pissed off. I wish I was still in Atlanta. Everything is so screwed up.

I miss you. So much.

I'd give anything to see you for just one day.

Have you really moved on from me? Just like that?

Really?

 _ **From:**_ Michonne M. Williams (michonne_williams_5)

 _ **To:** _Theodore 3 Whitman (just4u_summer_1996)

 _ **Subject:**_ (none)

 _ **Date:**_ Sun. 08/06/1998 3:12 AM

It's officially been 6 months!

Seriously?

Are you dead?

 _ **From:**_ Michonne M. Williams (michonne_williams_5)

 _ **To:**_ Theodore 3 Whitman (just4u_summer_1996)

 _ **Subject:**_ (none)

 _ **Date:**_ Mon. 08/06/1998 3:38 AM

I'm sorry, I hope you're not dead.

I love you.

You should be here. I can't do this without you.

Please, please respond.

 _ **From:**_ Michonne M. Williams (michonne_williams_5)

 _ **To:**_ Theodore 3 Whitman (just4u_summer_1996)

 _ **Subject:**_ (none)

 _ **Date:**_ Mon. 07/09/1998 7:12 PM

Okay enough. I've had enough!

I am not doing this anymore.

I got your message loud and clear.

So screw you!

 _ **From:**_ Michonne M. Williams (michonne_williams_5)

 _ **To:**_ Theodore 3 Whitman (just4u_summer_1996)

 _ **Subject:**_ Happy Holidays

 _ **Date:** _Sat. 28/12/1999 4:08 AM

Hey, Rick?

Long time no speak. Okay that was corny forgive me.

Let me start again…

Hi, how are you?

Just taking a chance to send you Season's Greetings, and an early Happy New Year.

Rick I…

I can't even find the right words to tell you what my life's been like, since we last saw each other. Anything but normal, not as you'd wished, that's for sure.

I really don't use this account anymore. I opened a new one, so probably won't be checking back any time soon.

In any case, Mama's ill. Nothing serious. Don't worry. Just a bunion, but to her it's as bad as Cancer. Lol. She has to have surgery tomorrow and I caught her going over her will. I was like Mama that makes no sense. But she just brushed me off.

You know she still talks about you, right? Like all the time. Not always good, if I'm honest. But don't worry, Sasha still has your back. She faithfully jumps to your defense, without fail. Also, she's having a hard time. Maggie's Dad got remarried and he bought a farm in Georgia. She's moving away. Sasha's pretty torn up about it.

You didn't just leave me, I hope you recognized that.

I also hope you're alive and well.

Sincerely yours,

Michonne

Bye.

 _ **From:**_ Theodore 3 Whitman (just4u_summer_1996)

 _ **To:**_ Michonne M. Williams (michonne_williams_5)

 _ **RE:** _Happy Holidays

 ** _Date:_** Sun. 01/01/2000 7:12 AM

Hey,

Yes, I am alive and well.

I hope Penny makes a speedy recovery.

Tell her that I miss her too. I miss all of you.

Happy New Year.

* * *

 _Five months later._

"Are you sure this is the place?" I asked Morgan, my private investigator/companion, as he rounded the sharp bend and started up the narrow street of gravel, thick clusters of evergreen trees loomed on either side.

"This is the way according to the directions," he said.

I reached into the glove compartment, retrieved the brochure, and studied it again.

' **D &R Wildlife Adventures – Enjoy nature to it's fullest.'**

"We should be here by now," I said, placing the black and green booklet inside my handbag, before reaching out and cranking up the heater.

Although I am cloaked from head to toe, the ten-degree weather had me trembling constantly. That, and the fact that I was about to come face to face with none other than Rick Grimes for the first time in over two years. At twenty-two, a brand-new college graduate, I was, without a doubt, a different woman entirely. My perspective, my priorities, and my general understanding of the ways of the world, had undergone a much-needed radical change.

With my family's unconditional love and support, I had gotten through with my education despite my challenging situation. I had made them proud and was about to embark upon the next step in living out my dreams.

But first, I needed to accomplish a mission.

Yet, during that forty-five minute drive from Port Hardy Airport, all I thought about was if Rick would look like the same man I remembered, fleeing through my mother's front door. Did he still pinch his nose bridge when frustrated? Did he still put whipped cream in his hot chocolate?

"Now Michonne," Morgan's voice punctured my wandering bubble of thoughts, "you remember what it was I done told you before? These… cases, they tend to be unpredictable."

"Yeah." I remembered. He also told me not to get my hopes up. But hope had nothing to do with me asking my brother to spend a small fortune on a P.I. for the purpose of hunting Rick down. This trip, behind God's back, had to do with duty. I had a moral obligation to fulfill, to myself, my family, and to Rick.

Morgan, finally steered the car onto a wide pitched road and a minute later, we'd arrived to the place where, according to Morgan's findings, Rick had settled, carved out a life for himself for the past year. I stepped out of the vehicle and admired my surroundings. It was breathtaking. The soft blue sky, cloudless and bright, provided the perfect outline for the rich, green forest overlooking a twinkling serene river. A tiny boardwalk community nestled right along the waterfront of the inlet, consisted of multicolored buildings, some aged, others modern. Peaceful, beautiful and pristine. A hidden jewel from the outside world.

A prickle of doubt undercut my confidence.

 _'What if I don't succeed?'_

On my own, I approached a salmon colored establishment with the 'D&R Wildlife Adventures' sign above, and in an instant, a dark-haired man exited the premises and accosted me before I set foot on the first step.

"What the devil are you doing all the way out here?" he asked, casting a distrustful look my way.

I halted, took two steps back, and held up my palms. "I'm not a threat. I'm looking for a Rick Grimes. I was told that this is where I could find him."

The glowering man strode closer and circled where I stood. Assessing me like I was a criminal? Really? In my red Eskimo parka?

"He ain't here," the curious man said, after making his inspection.

"Oh," my arms fell limp to my side.

"But two minutes or so and he'll be back, if you could hold on. Just went down to the General store."

My eyes widened with relief and I nodded.

He stuck his arm out. "Name's Dixon by the way."

Every scrap of information Rick shared about a Daryl Dixon – this man, this agent – leapt to the forefront of my mind. Wasn't much, just little things like his sketchy upbringing, his impressive talent for hunting, and his desperate need to keep strangers at arm's length. I reached out and shook his hand firmly. "Michonne."

"Oh, I know who you are." He glanced behind me.

I turned to see Morgan heading in our direction. The Cove, as it is affectionately called, has a total of twenty residents. Wasn't difficult to distinguish who belonged and who didn't. I waved to the older man, signaling that I was okay.

"You here to stir up trouble or something?" Dixon asked.

"Why would you say that?"

He gave me an arched look and humphed. "I'll take that as a yes."

He then pointed towards his business, invited me in, and offered me a cup of coffee together with a sandwich. I followed him and entered the building, but refused the meal.

"You sure about that?" he asked, leading me through the front office space, to the kitchenette at the back. "Got some tuna. The good kind too. With all the Omegas and shit."

I chuckled. "You mean the white tuna?"

He opened his cupboards and took out two cans. "Hey I didn't name it."

I sat on a wooden bar stool at the countertop and tugged off my gloves. "Thanks, but I'm good. Besides those things carry like three times as much mercury."

"Is that right? Well, ain't nothing perfect. Been living off of this stuff for a year and it ain't killed me yet."

I shrugged. "Suit yourself then."

He hesitated with the can opener in his hand. "You know what? How 'bout some peanut butter instead? Got mercury in that, miss smarty pants?"

A broad smile of amusement naturally spread across my face. "Sounds perfect."

"I'm sick of this crap anyway." The cans got tossed back into the cupboard in exchange for a large Jif Extra Crunchy.

Just then, a door creaked open. Dixon turned around as someone stepped through from another room. "Hey Sunshine. We got company."

* * *

Rick's face, now tanned and ruddy, went pale. "You? – Michonne?"

A flush of adrenaline tingled through my body, and my fingers gripped the countertop edge. I expected him to be stunned, of course. What I didn't anticipate, was my own startlement. We both simply froze at the sight of each other.

For all my resolve to remain strong, I distinctly felt myself wavering. My heart shattered anew. It took too long of a moment for me to remind myself to breathe.

 _'Michonne, breathe.'_

I clenched my fists, and lowered my gaze, suddenly, I felt smothered by the ridiculous number of layers of clothes I had on, when ten minutes ago I had been complaining how it was impossible to get warm enough.

Dixon, whose presence… hell his damn existence… had been instantly forgotten, perceived it was his cue to leave, and scampered out to the office.

"H-how?" I was so grateful when Rick spoke first because my own mouth had run completely dry.

"How did I find you?" I shrugged. "Hired a guy. Not that..." I paused and cleared my throat as it was threatening to close up on me, "…not that you made it easy. Used your last email to track you down." With sudden interest, I glanced around at the hardwood floors, and cream-colored walls. Heavy brown curtains, yet minimal furnishings. A warm and cozy décor.

My gaze skipped back to him. "The edge of the earth huh."

A deep flush flared up his neck. "The Cove is not that far."

"Really? I can literally see people waving from Alaska from here."

"Just trying to live is all. It's nice and quiet up here."

"It's goddamned cold is what it is." I joked, but I was uneasy before him.

He flashed a lopsided smile. "I'm safe."

"And happy?"

He tilted his head side to side throwing his gaze around, trying to settle on the right answer.

"It's okay if you're happy. I'm pretty happy too."

"Good, you deserve that."

And what about what he deserved?

An excruciating awkwardness then followed and sucked out what little air was left in the room.

"Don't um, don't take this the wrong way," Rick again broke the silence, "but why are you here? Not that it's not good to see you, because it is, but, you're a long way from home, Michonne."

I sighed. There was only one way to take that question. But I swallowed my offense and stayed the course. I had traversed over twenty-two hundred miles for a single purpose. "I… needed to see you. I needed to know."

"Know? Know what?"

My muscles tensed with irritation. "Everything. Like if you're okay. If you're alive. And if so, what your life looked like."

 _'Without me.'_

I hopped off the stool I'd planted myself on, and strolled over to a small side window. Separating the blinds, I peeked at the stillness outside. An enviable contradiction to the storm raging within. As I turned back around, I noticed a computer tucked away in the corner of the other room Rick walked through, and fresh pain gutted me.

Rick followed the trail of my gaze. He looked back at me. "So, you came up here for a fight." He must've seen the hurt flash across my eyes, and I quickly glanced away.

"No. No. I'm not angry. I was, for awhile, but I'm not anymore." That was just stupid. To be honest I didn't even have the time or the luxury of remaining indignant. My life had rapidly changed. Responsibilities demanded that I pull myself up and out of my cold, dark depression, and just get on with it. Living, that is.

Of course my clan, by and large, played a huge part in recalibrating my views.

"So…" Rick searched my face for some sort of clarity.

"So," I took a brave step closer to where he stood, and folded my arms across my stomach, "I came up here, to bring you home."

His neck bent forward, as his head cocked to the side. "What? Michonne, this is my home."

"No, _this_ is where you've been hiding." And who could blame him, the place was quite enchanting. "But listen, there's something you need to know. I—"

Dixon poked his head around the adjoining wall right at that moment, to remind Rick about a group of eight which was due to arrive any minute for a Grizzly bear tour.

Rick rest the plastic bags of groceries down on a side table. "You wanna do this now?" he asked me.

I shook my head. "My guy's waiting. I'm here for the weekend, till Monday. Suite number five at the Telegraph Resort. Come see me, we really need to talk."

* * *

Within an hour, Morgan and I checked into the resort and made our way to the recommended Mariposa Café to have lunch. Other than filling him in on what went down, I wasn't up for much conversation, and he seemed not to mind because he probably understood. After struggling through half of my meal, I retreated to my suite.

The room was a plain space, the size of a studio apartment, decorated in mostly white. A huge king-sized bed near the entrance was covered in a silver and white patterned quilt, and matching throw pillows. The walls were bare, with the exception of the full kitchen opposite the bed. A bay window at the other end overlooked the marina, allowing a flood of golden sunlight to fill the room. A TV in front of an armchair, were the only accessories available.

I unpacked my carry-on luggage, took a hot shower, and found myself sitting on the edge of the bed wrapped in a towel, dazed, allowing the few minutes spent with Rick to sink in. Every word, every breath, every movement cycled on repeat in my head.

Suddenly, I felt ill.

In a matter of minutes I got dressed and was out the door to pay the local pub a visit.

Two glasses of Red wine, and several hours later, Rick eventually showed up at my suite.

"Hey," I stepped aside to allow him in, but he stood in the doorway suspended, leaning against the wooden frame with one arm raised for support.

"Had an incident at work today," he said, his voice raspy, barely audible. "Nothing detrimental or anything, but a young man in my group, he got hurt. And you wanna know why that was, Michonne?" His gaze swept over me forcing a lump to rise at the back of my throat. "It was because of you."

"Rick—"

"You showed up, and you got into my head. I wasn't paying attention to the damn kid." Although his voice remained low, his tone sharpened, like a dagger, as he straightened and loomed closer much to my discomfort. But I didn't budge. "I couldn't stop thinking about you, and what you said. I understand you being worried about me, I do, and I'm sorry. It is mind blowing that you made it all the way up here. So goddamned resilient, I'll give you that. But do you really think, you're gonna just drag me back to Alabama? Who do you think you are?"

In response, I turned and darted over to the bed snatching up my bag. I rifled through my belongings until I found what I was looking for – my wallet. I opened it and held it up for Rick to see as he walked in and closed the door.

His eyes narrowed at the tiny picture.

"I'm his mother," I said, "that's who I am. And as for you, you're his dad."

Rick went still. Rigid and quiet, like he received a blow to the head.

"I got pregnant."

At first, his lips parted to say something, but no sound came out. With a hollow stare he tried to regain his ability to speak. "You, you were… I, have a…"

"Yes, I was. And, you do." I pointed to the picture of my pride and joy. " _He_ is ours."

"But, we were careful. Weren't we?" He closed his eyes and blew out a heavy breath. Like he sprinted back in time for a mental confirmation.

"Not the first time, no, we weren't."

He took the wallet and gaped at the baby boy smiling back at him. It was Rick's exact smile. But the way his eyes widened, it was as though I showed him something extraterrestrial.

"I was already two months along when I found out," I said.

The movements of his chest quickened, and he turned away from me. "How… How old is he?"

"A year and a half, to be exact. Do the Math."

"And you're telling me this now?"

"Yes," I said firmly, holding _my_ ground.

He spun around with a tightness on his face. "Yes? That's all you have to say? A year and a half? Eighteen months? All this time Michonne, and you didn't tell me?"

"I'm not gonna stand here and listen to your whining. Alright? You left." I moved away from him and his glaring judgement, but he advanced behind me. "You never wrote. You never called. You never came back."

"So this is on me!? This is punishment because I left for your own good?"

"What good Rick? To know just how easy it was for you, to dispose of me? You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?"

"No, that's just an excuse! How hard was it to write that I was going to be a father? Huh Michonne? Instead of coming at me like this." He flipped my wallet onto the bed.

"If you had written back, I would have. But you didn't. You walked away without looking back, not, for, a, second. You said you didn't deserve this…" I waved my hand back and forth between us. "…You didn't want me."

He paced the room, trying to absorb my revelation. "That's not true—"

"It is. And I needed you, but if you didn't want me…"

"I never said that."

"…How could I know if you would want _him_?"

He stopped and gripped me by my shoulders rendering me silent. "I never said that I didn't want you. I _never_ said that."

"No?" I whispered. Quivering, I pulled away and fled to the furthest side of the room, near the window. "You just needed to _forget_. It's the same thing. And you made your point loud and clear when you refused to even… to even say hello." The choking of my words took me by surprise.

"Like I said, that was for your own good. Better if you moved on. Staying in touch wouldn't have helped that much." He sat at the foot of the bed and cradled his head between his trembling hands. "You may not want to believe it, but it's true."

"Well, look at where we are now."

Rick picked up the picture again, after neither one of us said anything for a couple of minutes. "What's his name?"

Taking a chance, I dared to sit next to him. "Carl. I named him Carl, Theodore, Grimes."

His eyes welled up and his cheeks burned red. "Like my Dad?"

"Yeah," I nodded, as I fought down my own sobs, "like your Dad. And he's… remarkable. Like you. And brave. And he's my heart."

To be honest, I really didn't have any regrets. My situation – being single and young and pregnant – was difficult, but I was proud of being Carl's Mom and staying in school. And I could never regret being with Rick either. Everything my young mind held onto with a fierce tenacity, about life, and love, and family and loyalty all changed, matured, when I met this stranger.

Although him breaking up with me hurt like a bitch, I bounced back, eventually. I had to. Carl needed me to. He of course became priority so every decision I made, including that of being there, two thousand miles away from home in front of a man who did not want to be found, was based on what was best for him – My son.

A sudden ache in my chest urged me to take hold of Rick's hand, but the atmosphere in the room was laden, with a mixed scent of spice and the ocean. Familiar and unfamiliar like the man the smell belonged to.

Before I could reach out to touch him, Rick got up, and then he walked out. My wallet still clutched in his fist.

* * *

Morgan Jones, top notch PI for over 10 years, from Atlanta Georgia, was absolutely right.

My reunion with Rick went _nothing_ like I'd hoped for.

Later that night, lying in the dark on the too wide, too foreign bed, staring up at the grooved plywood flat ceiling, I thought back to that moment, five months before, when I had decided it was time for Carl to meet his father. My mind played out every scenario possible of how it would've been when I'd finally tracked down Rick, and every scenario always ended the same. Like a goddamned romance novel.

Oh god, I was such an idiot.

I had imagined that when all was said and done, conflicted feelings aside, I would ultimately forgive him for abandoning me, and Rick would understand that I did what I did for the well being of our child. And there would be just joy.

Not this, though, I didn't foresee all this anger blazing between us culminating in him storming out on me.

Pangs of hunger started gnawing my insides, so I threw on a pair of jeans and sweat shirt, checked Morgan to borrow some cash, and headed to the coffee shop for a quick bite to eat.

As I walked out into the resort's sprawling lounge, I gasped, and came to a standstill when I spotted Rick plodding through the glass entrance.

"Michonne?"

"Rick. I, I didn't expect to see you back tonight."

His hands withdrew from his jacket pockets; one returned my wallet, the other held on to Carl's picture. "This isn't it, is it?"

I answered no, told him there's more, but if he could hold on for 5 minutes I was just about to grab some food.

"Come on let's go," he said, to my surprise. And strolled along for the short trip one building over.

"Still not sleeping?" I asked, an effort at small talk whilst waiting for my sticky cinnamon bun and Chai tea latte.

He said nothing. Except for a compulsive nod, he simply trailed his gaze over me, not meeting my eyes, preferring to brood in silence. And I let him.

As soon as we made it back to my suite, I retrieved my son's baby book from my luggage. Rick gave me a cutting glance as he took the album and sank into the armchair to look through the records of Carl's first year of life.

His fingers traced over the beginning page:

 _ **'Baby's Very First Day'**_

BORN: _Carl Theodore Grimes_

ON: _October 4th, 1998 7:13 P.M._

AT _: St. Joseph's Memorial Hospital_

WEIGHT: _7 pounds 2 ounces._

LENGTH: _50.1 cm_

At the bottom, was a taped lock of dark brown hair. He brushed his thumb over a newborn's silky curl.

"Shouldn't I have had a say?" Rick peered across to where I stood, leaning against the wall next to the stove, with my hot coffee nestled between my fingers. "I missed out on everything. His first words, his first steps. What does he like to eat, does he have trouble sleeping—"

"No. He sleeps like the dead. He likes oatmeal, Apple cinnamon is the best, and chocolate pudding, which he can't get enough of. Hates soy milk, but I'm not giving up on that one." I beamed with affection. "Loves hide and seek before bedtime, and his first words were 'Mama,' 'truck,' and 'water' in that order." My chin pointed towards the book in his lap. "Everything's there."

He turned the page. "Sounds like a handful."

"He's perfect."

"He must think his Daddy doesn't care about him."

"Of course not," I huffed with a grimace. "I would never… he knows that you do, even though he's yet to meet you. That's why I'm here."

The latte got placed on the counter. "Listen, I thought I was doing the right thing."

"You didn't know if I was alive?" He flipped over another page.

I nodded, grateful, as he seemed to be coming around, understanding my predicament.

"So, explain to me why you kept sending me those messages," he paused and looked up at my face, "told me about your Mom getting surgery, Tyreese getting married, even about Sasha and Maggie. Everything important, everything except this."

I swallowed hard. "It's not that simple. How could I?" I watched him get up and head straight towards me, ready for another battle. But what was the point? I straightened my stance and held out my palms. "Rick please. Us going around in circles makes no sense," I said in a calm tone. "You want to pin me as the bad guy? Go ahead. But you have no right to try to make me feel guilty for my choices."

His chin dipped to his chest, and he exhaled a heavy breath. "No, I don't, do I? You know, it wasn't that simple for me either. If you think I wanted to leave in the first place, then you still don't get it. The truth is, I wanted to kill that guy that night, in the station. You have no idea." He stepped closer. "And those feelings, they didn't simply go away, not for hours, or for days. I felt a rage burning inside and only then it occurred to me that I was a ticking time bomb, and I didn't even know it. What would've happened if you weren't there with me? What if I tripped off again? The more I thought about it, the clearer it became to me. I had to leave. I had to. I loved you, I didn't want to hurt _you._ Is that so hard to understand?"

"I wished you would've just given me a chance. I told you once before, my family's my world, you're a part of that now. Even from when Daddy was alive and we weren't a couple. If there's a crisis, personal or otherwise, we pull together, not apart. Two weeks ago I graduated from school, only because Mama wasn't having it, Tyreese wasn't having it. They got me the help I needed." I pressed my fingertips to his cheekbone, and he held his breath. "We would've done the same for you. No questions asked. We draw strength from each other. We survive together."

He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me to his chest. "I'm so sorry Michonne. I don't think of you as the bad guy. Okay? I'm just, in shock. First seeing you, then finding out I'm a father. It's a lot to process." He released me and cupped my face forcing me to look him in the eyes. "You're gonna have to give me some time, to figure out how we can make this work."

A small smile tugged the corner of my mouth. "You'll find a way. But you have till Monday our flight's at ten."

He chuckled. "Yes Ma'am."

With a sigh of relief I slipped my hands in his. The weight of my worries lifted, and I was elated with the knowledge that in forty-eight hours Carl would have his Dad in his life. And Rick would love him instantly.

"If I have to be completely honest, I couldn't do it," his gaze averted to the floor and I stared at him confused, "I couldn't stop thinking about you… or wanting you." He took a step forward. "I still do."

And I, took a step back. "Still what?" My voice shrunk, for it was the last thing I expected to hear.

Rick leaned forward, and kissed me softly on the lips. He then held my palm flat against the side of his face, his gaze penetrating mine, and my stomach flipped. How was this possible? I wondered. If all the time in the world phased by, would I still feel so drawn to him?

The sudden realization shocked me for a few seconds before I stumbled back. I clutched my stomach and took a breath. "I'm not here for this," I reminded both him and myself. "I'm here to bring you home."

My hips then felt the weight of his hands as he pulled me closer. "Rick, please," I whispered. A plea to stop before we went too far, but it was too late, and I was kissed again. Hungrier this time, until we were both breathless. My sweatshirt dropped to the floor in a second, and in the next I felt the cold wall against my back. His hot mouth stroked down my neck, while his gentle hands coasted along my body, driving me into a mindless frenzy.

"We shouldn't," I weakly protested, as my head rolled to the side, and my arms crisscrossed behind his neck, pulling him closer. Reluctant to let go. Savoring him. His touch, his taste, his heat.

Our hands began stripping each other as desperation to rediscover our connection, took over. Bundled in his arms, my heart battering against my chest, Rick stole me across to the bed.

His tongue and his hands played circles over my body – my breasts, stomach, and my thighs, where I was already waiting for him.

He moved around me, and then he moved inside of me. Deep, slow, and reverential. My slim fingers gripped the toned muscles of his lower back, my timing combined with his rhythms as they became hard and steady leaving me gasping for air until that sweet surge arched my back and I felt my body crest and explode.

I clasped his face between my hands. His breathing ragged, he smiled a goofy smile, resting his forehead against mine and whispered, "I'm already home."

* * *

At Port Hardy Airport, Morgan and I waited patiently at the gate for Rick to arrive. I checked my watch our departure was due in twenty minutes, and still no sign of him.

"Are you sure he's on his way?" Morgan asked.

"We still have time." My heart skipped a beat when in that moment I heard my name and Rick finally came hurtling through the terminal towards us.

He apologized, explained he had trouble on deciding between a Grizzly bear, or an Orca whale, stuffed toy. Daryl told him what the hell man, to just bring both.

"Thinking about a name band," Rick handed in his boarding pass. "You said that the name Carl means strong, right?"

"Strong man, but close enough." I smiled, my heart full of joy over Rick's goofy excitement. He was totally adorable. I wished I had my camera it was a Kodak moment.

"This is so surreal. I can't believe I'm a father," Rick said, as we walked through the tarmac.

"Are you afraid?" I asked.

"No… yeah," he chuckled at himself. "Yeah I'm terrified. But I'm also excited."

"That's good. Because Mama is more than ready to lay it thick on you. She'll have your ears ringing for a week."

"Nah. Maybe a day. I have my way with her."

I laughed. Sad to say but it was the truth.

He showed the flight attendant his seat number as we boarded the aircraft. "I don't mind anyway. She'll be in her rights to lay in on me for a month. I was wrong," He pressed his lips against my forehead, "I know that now."

Hours later, at Birmingham International Airport in Alabama, we parted ways with Morgan and met up with Tyreese, who came to pick us up. My brother greeted Rick, shook his hands asked after his well-being, but Ty's tone was cold and overly formal. Once we got to the car, a stern warning was issued –both Tyreese and Mama didn't want Rick staying at the house, they'd made other arrangements. My stomach hardened. Rick already had a room, booked and waiting for him, at the La Luna Inn to spend the night.

I climbed into the back seat with Rick, and purposefully placed my hand over his. Tyreese's eyes kept flickering my way in the rearview mirror.

As soon as we arrived home, Mama was there on the porch waiting to greet us. Rick held out a bouquet of flowers – white lilies – her favorite which she accepted. But she tried to remain unaffected, regarding him stiffly keeping her distance.

As we entered the house, we were told that Karen and Carl were waiting in the living room. I took Rick's bag from him but he hesitated, apprehension lined his features as he looked around the foyer at the faces staring back at him.

"Well, go on now. He's expecting you," Mama urged.

"No wait, give him a moment," Tyreese said, now with a camera in his hand red light on, his eyes sympathetic.

"My grandbaby's been waiting," she sighed, half with pity half with impatience. Taking hold of Rick's hand she extricated him from his self-imposed anxiety and led him into the living room.

A wonderful aroma of warm peanut butter cookies hung in the air. The long coffee table that used to occupy the middle of the room for over a decade, was no longer there, instead replaced by a large multicolored play mat with an assortment of toys scattered about. At the center of the melee of blocks, cars, and musical animals, was my sister-in-law and her nephew.

My chubby cheeked bundle of joy hardly noticed when any of us walked in as he was lost in his own world. Bouncing around with his rounded tummy prominent in a blue plaid shirt, paired with cargo shorts, and bare feet.

"Hey little man," I called out.

"Ma-ma!" His eyes lit up when he finally saw me, and padded over to my outstretched arm, his five digits wrapped snuggly around my index finger.

"Guess what? Your visitor's here. Come say hi."

Rick, sucking in his breath, knelt down onto one knee. He lightly touched Carl's trimmed brown curls before introducing himself. "Hey buddy," trying to keep a grip on his emotions, his voice came out hoarse and slightly strained, "My name's Rick. I'm so happy to meet you."

With innocent, wondrous eyes, Carl reached out his pudgy hand and touched his father on the nose with curiosity. Rick smiled, his eyes pooled and twinkled with affection. He pinched his son's chin in return.

Lowering onto my haunches, I intruded into their moment. "Carl, sweetie, Mama has a surprise for you okay?"

"O-kay."

"Rick's not just a visitor," I said. "He's here to meet you, because, he's your Dad. Isn't that awesome? Can you say Daddy, like we practiced?"

My son nodded. "Da-ddy."

I gave him a little clap and he stuck out his chest and said it again. We all laughed and he gifted us with his heart melting toothy giggle.

Adoration washed over Rick's face. And in one swift motion he scooped Carl up and he held him close, rocking him from side to side. His entire aura radiated with pride.

I wiped away the dampness from my cheeks and looked up to catch Mama, and Tyreese, doing the same.

Every time I think back on that day, I remember there was a time when I was growing up, I promised myself not to ever fall in love with a military man. I was going to be different. I was going to break the cycle, the tradition, and not be like my mother, or my grandmothers. But the universe, along with an inherited disposition, did not see it fit to disallow the tradition.

Yes, in a way I did turn out different. For awhile I did not get to keep my soldier. I had lost him. And I was heartbroken. Nonetheless, I was Jack Williams' daughter, so I did what I had to do, I brought Rick back home to us. To where he belonged.

I hoped my father would've been proud.

 **The End**.


End file.
